


I cannot weave

by HalewynsLady



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Almost there where something else happens, Angel Weaver, Angella is the denial, Castaspella is sort of there to make things worse, Cuddle buddies established, Cuddling, F/F, Fluff, FtLoSW, I am almost at this part that I love so much this is what tags are for, I pity the guards for the poor sound isolation of this place, It has been the same day for over ten chapters?, It takes 26 chapters for anything to happen, Micah's ghost sort of, Mission touch-starved is on, Most difficult chapter yet so it will be in crumbs, Pining and denial, Shadow is the pining, Shangella, Slow Burn, Smut burn, Something is happening!, and a few alternate past scenarios because I could not resist, angel-demon, anything Micah can do Shadow Weaver can do better, cuddle buddies coming up, enemies to lesbians, good mom-bad mom, have I mentioned yet they are both messes and I love them for it, minor self-harm theme will not turn into anything horrible I promise, not that these ladies need much help with this, sw being a problematic favourite, the goth one and the pastel one, the luxuries of guestroom-prison, there is no bed, there is only one sofa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2020-11-29 13:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 60,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20965397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalewynsLady/pseuds/HalewynsLady
Summary: Healed, imprisoned Shadow Weaver at Bright Moon.In this story I will try to show a Shadow Weaver attempting to manipulate her only link to the outside world, queen Angella. The queen will have none of it and is successful in keeping the princesses away from Shadow Weaver. Angella does gently influence Shadow Weaver in time, this leads to Shadow Weaver realizing she is a “useless lesbian” for Angella and unable to do anything about this unfortunate situation without her powers.





	1. intro

Welcome to my illusive fanfic, previously announced on Tumblr –you can find me there under the same username as here-. I will try to put this story online in nice short pieces.   
You should know I have only seen this series once and it was not in English. I will make be making mistakes by lack of fact checking and I apologize for that. 

“Once more you have failed to bring me Adora.”  
“Good morning to you too.” Queen Angella approached the confinement shield.  
She was carrying a tray of pastries. They looked too good to be given to an enemy prisoner.   
It troubled her that Shadow Weaver was still alive. It troubled her most of all that the woman, this master-puppeteer, even when being preoccupied by dying, had still scored a victory in having Adora heal her.   
“I will return in half an hour to pick that up."   
"And Adora?”  
“No Adora. Not today, not tomorrow.” Not ever. “I am not trusting anyone near you.”  
“Except yourself. Do you expect me to feel flattered, your majesty? ”  
The queen shook her radiant head. “I will knock before I enter so you can let me know if you are decent.”  
“Decent.” Shadow Weaver scoffed.  
“Yes. Mask on.” Angella clarified. She drew her hand in front of her own face in a vague motion before she turned and left. Her wings folded neatly behind her. Apparently unintimidated.  
Shadow Weaver grew restless.

-See, I did mean short. :) -


	2. Skin

Underneath her mask her skin itched, her soul ached. She blamed the healing process, she blamed her beloved Adora for inflicting this on her.  
Her protégée had undoubtedly transferred some of her teenage disquiet upon her.  
While analyzing this theory she made quick work of her breakfast. The red drink had looked promising but turned out to consist of berries that were entirely too sweet for consumption. The food was certainly passible. Considering she was not at her most objective after the Horde’s cell food and the poor culinary prospects of death or Beast Island, she felt obligated to rate it less than it currently tasted to her. She was not in a mood to be picky about her food, but she saw no reason to stop herself from taking a criticizing stance either. In truth, she had rarely felt better about a meal.  
Shadow Weaver caught herself fidgeting with her sleeves again, edging the fabric below her knuckles closer to her palm with an uncertain thumb, not quite pulling it back.  
Teenage disquiet, she repeated to herself.  
She wiped her fingers on the provided napkin to divert herself. The act makes her suddenly self-conscious. She felt herself become less comfortable when she is alone than when she knew herself to be under observation. This place unsettled her.  
She shoves her emptied tray outside of the shielded circle. It shines a silver light, taking her by surprise, the impression that it might cast her a reflection, but upon a second glance it was only a trick of the light. The tray is of a clear white wood. A small mercy.  
She holds her breath, unintentionally, unthinkingly, fingers caressing cloth again, wishing for a moment she could pull back her sleeve ... and know.  
But of course the sleeves were designed so her arms cannot be bared unless removing the whole dress. This is the very first time she regrets this. She wonders if she is still the same.  
Which is a ridiculous notion in itself.  
She will regain her power. That is what matters. Inside, outside, everything changes, nothing does. She is always her treasured self.  
Surely she can feel her scars through the fabric, the rise and fall of their cuts, swellings, harsh ridges, exactly where she knows them to be. Surely, she would have known at once if anything had changed or been cast out of her. The entire world would look different. Everything would feel as it once must have done to her, as she can’t recall it feeling anymore. It would impact all her senses.  
No, she thought, fleetingly caressing her worn out and damaged dress, convinced now she can feel her battered skin through it. Not a chance.  
The cuts and bruises that she had Hordak and his prison to thank for were gone, healed by Adora. It had taken her little effort to notice the absence of their sting. And somehow the spirits that dwell within her are no longer consuming her. They had been subdued, for now. For how long? It does not matter. She will find a way to feed herself, soon. No longer being undone and dying was good.  
And yet she feels restless. Almost the same as she had felt in the years directly following her fateful enchantment. Heavy of heart, feverishly hungry, dismally pensive, only this time all these sensations, though present, were experienced through a much duller lens. Troubling her from an unknown distance.  
She sighed.  
Being concerned about the state of her private appearance was really not worth her time. It’s been a whole day since she was healed. She does not know why she has not checked sooner, except for being exhausted and having fallen asleep.  
“Coward.” she berates herself, for not daring to look.  
She can pull her dress up and look. Still sitting, her legs resting beside her, she holds her hand at her ankle, takes up the skirt, she tries to get herself to cast an unfocused look down, but can’t. She feels it, at her fingertips, the familiar pattern. It has remained in place. She traces it, like weeds, parasite vines-veins, these scars.  
Relief and anger sweep over her in equal measure. She lets it. Suddenly tired, she covers herself once more. Her hand remains clamped about her ankle a while longer. As if holding on for comfort. Pushing her nails into the skin. Painfully. She does not notice.  
She might as well rest easy in her fate and enjoy this “prison” for a couple of days longer. The princess rebellion would have need of her soon. When the time came, through careful observation, she would pick this place apart by a few slide remarks. It would crumble and fall apart around by her feet whenever she needed it to. Her mind sleepy, crafty, yet most of all tired, she hears Angella greet the lady guards outside the room.


	3. Rules

“Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.” Angella recited to herself before opening the cursed door.  
She saw the woman lying there. Her clothes like blood. She was asleep, or near sleep. Angella never quite could tell.  
The floor was hard. She guessed it could be less comfortable.  
She reflected for a while upon the prisoner. Do not give her anything she wants. Versus. We owe our prisoners humane care. This would be a challenging line to hold with any person. She had the fortune or misfortune that this person was just about as bad as people could get. If any were to offer Shadow Weaver an honest chance, it would be used against them. There was that one certainty. It was almost a comfort.  
For Angella was by all means too good at pleasing people. She liked giving to her friends what they wanted without them even having to ask. Not for this person. She would have to prevent herself from doing so this time, not that she felt remotely tempted.  
Shadow Weaver was vastly different from anyone likable or good.  
She did look terribly neglected. She observed the tangles in her black hair. The queen figured she could spare her a brush and mirror.  
Angella was well aware that her prison cell could not be counted among the best or most appropriate. However she had the most excellent guards and Castaspella had promised to stay around for however long Shadow Weaver was to be here and to advise her through these interactions. As long as no urgent Mystacor business called her away.  
Angella would always uphold her own sense of decency and justice. She knew she could depend upon herself. No matter how pleasingly this sorceress could contort her voice. She was well known to influence people. And in spite of that, she had ended up here. Alone. Dying. So perhaps this talent of yours, Angella thought, for playing upon people, pulling their strings just right, is not that great. Perhaps people know you now and have grown tired of your tricks.  
Gone were her own powers and any kind she thought she had gained over the years with the Horde. False powers.  
I won’t be provoking you, nor will I be afraid of you. Even if you are broken, even if you are at your most dangerous. I won’t pity you. I won’t dance for you.  
Last night alone Adore made five attempts to break in and see her “mother”. Only the skill of the guards had prevented her, or Shadow Weaver would have escaped already.  
The kind of loyalty Shadow Weaver inspires, instills, in her students, soldiers, was truly frightful. Micah had never liked to speak ill of her either.  
If I grow to like you, in some manner, I won’t blame myself for it. I know you can be entrancing.  
No one in this realm was left untouched by Shadow Weaver’s evil. Not one could treat her with untainted eyes. To give her an unbiased prisoner’s care. Micah’s widow and sister were perhaps the best people then to take this burden upon them. They knew how destructive the woman was.  
For Micah, for the children, Angella would face her every day. Even if it was to be forever. Keeping her here was preferable to any other future. She more than owed it to all those she loved.  
She had delicately set up ground rules, together with CastaSpella, on how to act around their charge. Whatever she asked for, directly or more sneakily, would be instantly denied.  
Rule 1, do not use magic anywhere near this room.  
Rule 2, do not touch the prisoner.  
Rule 3, converse as little as possible with her.  
Angella bowed to take up the tray and the plate, cutlery and empty cup upon it. She knelt, just outside the circle, a world away from the shielded prisoner.  
The whiteness of eyes stared steadily back at her, she almost startled.  
“I will bring you another meal later and in the evening towels and water to clean yourself.”  
“A mirror too.” Shadow Weaver spoke, her voice still rough.  
Queen raised an eyebrow, pink and strict. Curious, she had been of a mind to give that exact object. Now she knew, she should not.  
“Go on...”  
“I need a mirror.” she urged. “Bring me one?”  
And she did.  
\-----  
Already a Bluebeard reference? I am worse than I thought.  
Though She-ra is set in a different world, I trust none will mind me messing around with fairytales, mythology and literature.  
Note: I have written a lot of this story already and discovered that... in my story at least...apparently toilets and tooth brushing are not needed in this world. Thank you for understanding.


	4. Carrots

I should add, I liked Castaspella but don’t remember her exact personality.  
\----

Angella was filling in papers on their progress of looking after the prisoner. Two meals provided on this day, uneventful, hardly a few words spoken, the request for a mirror, Angella’s own nervousness. She noted it all.  
The most recent meal, no carrots eaten.  
Castaspella leaned in, reading. “No carrots huh?”  
Perhaps she does not like carrots, perhaps it was a onetime thing, perhaps she only did it to vex them or it was a deliberate ploy to make herself appear more sympathetic by adding little quirks to how they perceived her.  
Angella shook her head. Worrying about carrots, this was no way to go about her business. Note it and move on.  
“I mentioned her mask at breakfast. I shouldn’t have.” Angella whispered.  
“What did you say?”  
“I told her to be sure to keep her mask on when I enter.”  
Castaspella laughed. “I doubt she’d ever forget to put it on. “  
“It came out wrong. I was trying to tell her we’d respect her privacy. I wanted to imply that we want her to be comfortable since we could not have her dead.”  
“Charming, if you put it like that. Be certain to tell her that.”  
“I am not telling her anything. Besides, you agreed already her death would have been better and easier for all of us. Nevertheless we have to provide her with enough comfort so she won’t see taking revenge on Bright Moon, and Mystacor, as her top priority once she escapes. “  
“We have set up rules and limitations, that is something. Have some faith, Angie.  
Would you like me to walk you through this afternoon’s steps again?”  
“No, thank you, I know how to do it.” She tried to squash her nerves. “I already brought her food successfully.”  
“Yes, you survived those visits and I admire you for that.” Having Castaspella on her side trying to be supportive was quite nice.  
“The washing routine won’t be that different.”  
Angella tapped the schedule. “The curtains.”  
“Yes?”  
“In that room, they are quite light aren’t they?”  
“Yes, we went over this already, they are white, they let light through, make shapes vague.”  
“Good. That should be enough to shield her as she washes. I don’t want the room darkened. She draws her force from shadows, or I believe she could. Her connection to them should be powerful. I want the room bathed in light at all times.”  
“You are being a bit paranoid, but I agree.  
She is resourceful.”  
Angella looked at Castaspella with concern.  
“You know more about spellcasting than I do. Then why give her a mirror? There are few objects so laden with magical connotations. It feels too convenient for her to be given access to a mirror, to me. ”  
Queen Angella eyed the small object suspiciously. They had ruled out a full length mirror already, the cumbersomeness of dragging the object into the room and the chances of someone, a guard, Angella herself, accidentally catching a glimpse of whatever it was Shadow Weaver did not want them to see under that cocoon of robes of her being too probable to risk.  
“Why not? We could learn of her insecurities.”  
“I’d rather not learn of those. However guarded she is, her secrets will be obvious and glaring, rooted in ugly events. Her insecurities are best left covered up with her. It would be damaging to all involved if we were to unveil them.” Angella sighed, “I am tempted to use my veto on this.”  
“We leave her secrets to herself. Fine. Perhaps she will hold less of a grudge then. I wouldn’t count on it. However, if we wish to have her act more compliantly here, I still suggest we give her that mirror. You see, I don’t believe she truly wants one. I believe there is a deeply personal reason, as you suggested, and nothing more. “  
“You think she asked for it in fear?”  
“Fear may be a bit strong, more a compelling ...” Castaspella struggled to find the right words in her assumptions.  
“It is too much risk to act on this hunch of yours, Casta. She may just as well have said it to test us, and then we will have failed already by providing her the very thing she requested. No,” said Angella. “I am not prepared to make exceptions. I won’t compromise the safety of the realm because you are curious about her face. She ásked for a mirror, that rules it out.”  
“Aren’t you curious to see her face?” Castaspella wondered. “If I put a sticking spell on the mirror’s surface we can summon the image back after her use.”  
“To what end?”  
“The chances are in our favour with her powers being next to nothing.”  
“We are not chancing anything. She still pulled apart your truth spell. There is no way she would not notice a sticking spell. Besides, it is too unethical. I won’t violate her like that. Or anyone else.”  
Castaspella considered, her mouth pulling tight. Yes, she admitted bitterly to herself, she already felt like she had something to prove, to Shadow Weaver. The previous day she had been practicing and perfecting her truth spell ever since Shadow Weaver found a flaw.  
“It’s only a face, how bad can it be?” Castaspella looked uncertain even as she spoke. “To be seen is to be known. We could get a grip on this shadow, on who she is.”  
“Her true face is what she showed by torturing my daughter and Adora! We know who she is. We know plenty of what she is like without seeing her skin. I have no interest to see behind the mask. Her deeds are clear.”  
Angella hated arguing like this.  
“You are right. The mask itself does say a lot about her. Red and black, the scary eyes. It looks like it will eat you.”  
“And we know who she was. You have brought all the files on Light Spinner you could find over from Mystacor for us to analyze. It will be weeks before we get through all of it. “  
“Angella, please, trust me in this: Whatever demons she hides under that robe we don’t want them coming out, give her the mirror.” The queen did not look convinced, so Castaspella continued: “Now, we are decided on a hand mirror because it is safer?”  
Begrudgingly the queen nodded. “She will have no way of using the mirror to influence the spell circle she is trapped in?”  
“No.”  
She watched Castaspella draw bright spells over the mirror. “These should nicely counter any attempts to place a spell on this mirror. Whether it is to pull something from the mirror or put something inside. Not much will take on a surface this small anyway. Here you go. One clean and uncorruptable mirror.” She smiled, handing the object to Angella.  
“Fine, then. One small mirror, once.  
What would Micah do?” Angella asked herself. “He would grant her food, water and clean clothes. I am not too certain about the mirror...”  
“Can we leave the clothes debate until tomorrow?” Castaspella groaned.  
No one was prepared to lend clothes to the evil one, Angella herself included, she more than understood Castaspella wanting to keep the topic at bay. It could not be avoided forever.  
“Yes, but we will come up with a plan tomorrow.” Queen Angella urged on.  
She gathered the bath linen, the brush and mirror into the empty washing bowl.  
With a flaring swish of hair she was heading out the door “Wish me luck.”  
“Be careful she doesn’t swallow your soul.”  
Great motivation, really.


	5. Mirror

The door was opened by a guard, who performed a firm grip on the crescent handle. In stepped Angella, her hands full with a bowl of inevitable doom. Shadow Weaver was already standing, having expected her. The queen’s approaching footfalls had been evident from the hall long ago.  
Shadow Weaver had hoped she had discouraged her from going through with this washing plan. When the queen had brought her her second meal she had thanked her, both when she delivered the tray and when she took it away. A civilized show of curtesy that she had expected would unsettle the queen into wishing not to return for this day. Yet here she was. She seemed no more unsettled with her than usual. What a shame. Still, cultivating manners was not a complete waste. She still had all the time in the world to get under the woman’s skin. Find herself a snug place to crawl into and then firmly put herself in Angella’s life. Take on a role as indispensable court sorceress perhaps. In time. Not tomorrow, but, perhaps a week from now.  
Her scars felt worse, pulling tighter, reaching far under her skin, as she watched the queen approach. She told herself this was merely her scars’ unwashed state acting up and had nothing to do with nerves.  
The queen stopped, sat down in front of the glowing shield, carefully taking up and laying down the objects from the bowl she had put on the floor. A mirror gazed up from a pile of towels and reflected Angella’s luminous hair and face as Shadow Weaver gazed down upon her. Angella slid the pile into the circle, Shadow Weaver saw the mirror shift to her own image. Even to herself the clash was jarring. From a gentle warming light to harsh darkness. Part of her sulked. She did not understand. She would not be showing the queen or any other her face anyway. She regretted having asked for a mirror, half asleep as she had been, half panicked as she had been. She was annoyed at herself for having asked at all.  
She tried to react with stillness and dignity now. But the queen followed her gaze, looked her right in the mask. She did not offer a comment. They wouldn’t, these were ‘nice’ people here.  
Angella straightened, she drew her neck up defensively. She stood firm, grounded in a reality so certain, one she was so willingly was a part of. Shadow Weaver could only dream of being a master of her own fate quite as surely as Angella seemed to be. The queen did not make much of an effort to move out of her line of sight.  
“It is dangerous to keep too close an eye on your fears, surely you know that.”  
“It is just as dangerous not to.“ The queen spoke, standing so strangely at ease before her.  
Shadow Weaver held her hands low, patiently pressed together, to suggest an air of calmth and control.  
Angella had either copied her stance or it was the other way around or it was just a coincidence.  
The queen raised her hand to brush her own hair back, then turned away to walk the room, stalking far off, to the high blown windows, taking her time to reach them on foot in what looked a well-considered order of doing things. She drew the tall curtains closed, high window to high window, one by one. An elaborate process.  
Shadow Weaver considered these colourful evening sky arches. She swore there was more sky in this room than walls. At least the gauzy fabric would prevent herself from seeing her own reflection there. But the sky so bright, the air so clear...  
she knew most of Bright Moon looked like a birdcage. Open and transparent, fragile, a clear heaven for its queen to fly through, a utopian castle, currently harbouring a devil. It was miracle really the Horde hadn’t taken and smashed this place yet, oh but for the haunted woods and the princesses of course... most of all the princess she herself had trained to be force captain, stolen from her.  
“Is there even glass in these windows?”  
“There is!” Angella sounded a bit too defensive. As if she would be so keen to have a prisoner escape that she would not secure the room with windows.  
“Is it so thin it is made of sugar?”  
“There is glass in these windows.” Angella repeated. “Which I admit is rare here. This room has one of the finest views in the entire castle. I suggest you try to appreciate it.”  
“What do you do when it rains?”  
“Our defenses are none of your concern.”  
“If you could, would you fly right in through one of these windows?” Angella remained suspiciously quiet. “Can you? Is the glass retractable?”  
Angella stepped closer, not speaking a word.  
Next, Angella retrieved the bowl, she carried it over to the waterfall like feature in the room. She filled it there.  
Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes at her, wanting for Angella to feel her snakelike gaze press upon her as she gathered the water.  
The queen, her maid.  
She walked back on soft white boots on purple-blue shining floor, as if on dark water. Apparently oblivious to Shadow Weaver’s strict gaze upon her. Sparkles light emitted from her.  
But then, this room was never short on sparkles coming from all directions.  
The smoothness of this floor was cumbersome enough when trying to sleep on it, Shadow Weaver imagined it to be even worse when venturing to carry a bowl of water over it. Once its surface gathered water, Shadow Weaver would soon discover how well this floor could be managed when covered with a gleam of water.  
Too focused on her task to notice her prisoner at all, Queen Angella leaned down. Cautious not to slosh the water from its container, Angella confidently placed the water bowl before the circle.  
Shadow Weaver unfolded the towels. One was red, one was mauve. Her very act of unfolding appeared a magical enchantment. Angella was distracted for a moment by how graceful these movements were. She thought, almost impatiently, to leave the sorceress to her washing. She pushed the water bowl into her circle. “I will return soon.” She spoke quickly.  
“You can leave the silly knocking behind. I will call when I need you.”

\------  
Author’s irrelevant note: hmm, so, the windows, I decided to do a modest spot of fact checking after all and noticed that sometimes the window in Glimmer’s room appears to have glass in it, sometimes not, sometimes half and seeing as I can make no sense of it, let me know if you know how windows work in this castle ( *poof magic*). 

Angella gay panick? Never.


	6. Mask

Thank you for reading and for the kudos. : D  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
Shadow Weaver moved her hand fleetingly over the mirror and pulled its inner dwellings, she could not get a grip on it. The mirror was empty and insusceptible to her magic. She was rather pleased with that. She set about loosening her scarf. The skin soon showed, tattered and grey. She moved a hand over it, a self-choking vision, the thought almost amused her. How strange, not long ago, She-ra had held her face, the great figure kneeling before her as in respect. Her face enclosed in lumnescent hands, these hands had pressed down to her cheeks as if the mask not even existed, to the sides of her face, over her ears and trailed slighty on her neck, she could still feel the purity and goodness of that touch, of that breathtaking power. Healed. Yet it had changed nothing to the surface. She lifted her mask, lowered herself to sitting as she did so. She rested the mirror in her lap. It stared up at her face, which looked the same as she had been accostumed to for many years now.  
Her hands upon that same skin, nothing lumnescent lingered. It no longer felt as though powerful magic had caressively enveloped her, run through her, honoured her body. Searing, painful, in its restorative eruption. Nothing remained. Just her old skin.  
A moment ago she might have still believed the sorcery could be there, before she touched her face with her own hands, before she looked. Foolish, those who would have thought divine alien powers could have made a difference. Foolish, herself.  
Hot tears pinched at her eyes, they won’t show, as she was not inclined to let them out.  
Tears would not improve her appearance. Not that that mattered. She was hunched over the mirror for a long time, she did not like this. It felt much more awful like this. She tore her gaze back, straightened her back. She turned the mirror upside down, force it to hide its face.  
Looking down still to her lap, her hair trailing, fringing her view, the texture and tint of her clothes, the familiar. Let it reclaim me.  
This is what I want. To know my powers may still return, because why else would I still look like this?  
The mirror was put to her side, with the mask. She pulled the heavy bowl closer to her on the other side.  
She dipped a towel in, bit by bit, to wash her face. Carefully. Then she cleaned the inside of her mask. Just another side to her face.  
Next her hair and body. Now, for all her caution, great splashes of water fell on the towel she had placed under her. She scrubbed her skin. She wanted to be clean. Yet did not trust her environment enough to take her clothes off entirely. It was a cumbersome endeavour, writhing with water and towel under her robes. She managed better than expected.  
She wrung out her hair once more above the bowl. She missed her usual ways of drying and guiding her hair with just a hint of overflowing magic. But here she stood to greet her guard back with her hair wet and armed against this inconvenience with only a brush. “You can come in.” she called, as she placed her mask back on and in that moment her mind recalled Angella’s words on that very mask. In that moment her skin itched. In annoyance.  
To suggest she would ever forget to put her mask back on, the gall. She spoke to her as to a child. Concise, helpful, borderline humouristic. If she ever did that again, Shadow Weaver would be certain to lash that woman with words.  
“Did you have enough water?” Angella’s words itched, again.  
Why had Shadow Weaver only figured out now that it were her words that bothered her so much?  
She felt her scars tug on her as if a storm approached.


	7. Curtains

Angella watched the sorceress brush her hair.  
She had expected her to take up her offer of refilling the bowl with clean water. The woman gave her no visible reaction. Angella looked upon her. Perhaps she hated the thought of having to go through the ordeal of washing again. Perhaps it was her pride. She reconsidered Castaspella’s insecurity-theory, which could not possibly hold up. Shadow Weaver exuded self-confidence, even when captured.  
Still, Angella comforted herself, her adversary was just another sorceress now. Angella knew she nicely met her confidence as she stepped towards her. She felt true safety knowing the circle held Shadow Weaver so effectively.  
With flick of her hairbrush Shadow Weaver gestured to the bowl, already pushed outside of the circle’s periphery. Hers may still be a fragile constant hubris, Angella considered, that kind of overconfidence that easily and repeatedly brought the wearer into more trouble. The kind its wearer would feel she could not live without. The queen observed her again, again came to the conclusion she did not look insecure. Not that she could even know for certain. Angella rejected the theory as irrelevant.  
Next to the bowl, still inside the circle lay the grimmy towels, black with filth, though viciously wrung out still soaked through. But folded neatly, which had taken clear effort and that gained a smidgen of admiration from Angella.  
The water dripping from Shadow Weaver’s hair was making marks on her shoulders. Angella was reminded of the clothes-discussion-yet-to-be-had. Their prisoner could not possibly feel clean in those robes. Shadow Weaver observed the queen regather her thoughts. Shadow Weaver touched her hair, held some wet strands between her fingers for closer inspection. The filth van Hordak’s prison would be coming out of her hair for weeks.  
Angella had followed her gaze to the hair, looked confused, but kept her expresion none the less as stoic as possibly. If only the queen could see her raise her eyebrow, inquiringly, daring her to do something, say something. Queen Angella looked all the more regal for her statuesque qualities, then she spoke and Shadow Weaver was almost surprised by the sound.  
“I will bring you an extra towel tomorrow.”  
Angella noticed Shadow Weaver leaned over with her as she reached for the bowl. She wanted to make her hesitant to take the water from her. Angella had been warned of her talent for intimidation, so she did not think it odd for her to move with her. She knew from Adora and Glimmer that Shadow Weaver held no respect for personal boundaries, not in affection, not in anger, not in torture, not in any situation.  
Angella would always be certain to keep an eye on her. She was at a great advantage here having the sorceress restricted to a small area.  
“Tomorrow?”  
“Of course. You are permitted to wash every day.”  
“That is most gracious of you. Just like granting me the mirror.” Shadow Weaver’s finger drew along the spine of the object in question, resting upon her towels. “That was a sporting chance you gave me. Aren’t you worried sick that I cursed it?”  
“Would you rather keep it? You could ask instead of threatening me.”  
“I was thanking you, if you must know.”  
Resting her hairbrush-holding arm upon her knee, Shadow Weaver shoved the pile out of the way with her other hand, wanting it gone. In her carelessness she watched the mirror slip from the towel. Angella moved as though to catch it, stopped herself from going beyond the border of the circle. She was safe, as long as she stayed on the outside, it was impossible for Shadow Weaver to touch her, unless Angella deliberately reached into the circle. She could tell Shadow Weaver already planned on making this a game. Of touching, not touching, seeing how close to touching she could drive her.  
Shadow Weaver halted the mirror herself, correcting its course with a small touch. She carefully inched it through the barrier now, into Angella’s hands.  
“Do not bring me a mirror again.”  
The soft terseness in her voice almost made Angella nod her agreement. Shadow Weaver looked straight into her face again, supposedly still in alarm. It felt absurd, this fuss over a mirror, this fuss over handing each other common objects, but it was necessary. Angella almost smiled.  
Angella let the towels and mirror sit where they were. She took up the bowl as intended. Shadow Weaver’s eyes narrowed to a glare. Angella saw dark shadows flow in the water. It reminded her of the ooze that emerged from Shadow Weaver herself as she had lain dying. Had those been the shadows of a parasitic force leaving its host to evaporate, unable to survive in the shining air of Brightmoon? Or her own dark soul’s energy? Whatever it was, it had been unpleasant to behold. She hoped, as she kipped out the darkened water, that this contained only grime and not demonic ectoplasms.  
She left the bowl next to the decorative waterfall for future use. Angella made to open the curtains, displaying her own capability at her selfappointed tasks.  
As before, she gazed out the furthest arched window for a while. At the sky and moons, the light pink clouds and bloated moons.  
It did not drive away the image of Shadow Weaver holding out her hand. Fine and graceful. As she had to everyone in the room when doubled down in pain, as she does, composed and standing upright, within this room, to ask, to demand, to plead, to nudge you to her as if for your own benefit. It was the same gesture. A kind looking gesture. Twisted by her. Shadow Weaver always reaching, for people, power, objects, ambition. Anything she could get her hands on. How lonely.  
After Angella opened the final curtains, she turned back around to see Shadow Weaver struggling with her hair.  
She stood as though the whole situation of hair brushing was too ridiculour for her. As if she had been trying for days to get this tangle out and would rather keep it a secret than ask for help. However seeing Angella noticing the problem at hand, she made no qualms about outright offering her the brush as if the queen would by any sane logic take it and take over the task of brushing.  
How did she manage to communicate so much expression with a mask on?  
“No, and you can forget about asking scissors too.”  
Shadow Weaver exaggeratedly placed a hand on her heart and shook her head.  
“And you call this a prison...”  
The sorceress returned to tackling the persistently tangential lock of hair.  
Angella waited for her to finish brushing her hair out. It took longer than the queen expected.  
Queen Angella sat down on a small padded stool. Pondering.  
“I supposed... it is an adequate torture technique.”  
“What is?”  
“To put me in a room where every comfort is present and just out of reach. Cushions, seats, water,... Even when I am by myself I am cut off from all of it.”  
Angella knew of no answer so she gave none. She was quite right and it was on purpose. The queen would never risk letting that circle down.  
If she was going to try and push her discomforts onto Angella’s conscience, it was not going to work.  
Angella watched the drops still tinkling from Shadow Weaver’s hair, leaking demons, or water.  
Shadow Weaver caught her staring, Angella looked away, the sorceress made use of that moment to sort her hair out, Angella could tell by the ripping sound. It made her flinch. She did not suppress her concern, nor did she voice it. If she wanted to damage her hair by tearing that was on her.  
By the time the queen turned back, Shadow Weaver stood perfect as a statue herself.  
“Are you ready?”  
“Yes.” Shadow Weaver held out the brush as resolutely as before.  
“No. Put it on the floor and push it to me.”  
She heard the sorceress sigh. Angella realized this was going to be a conversation they would have almost every day.  
Ang narrowed her eyes seeing her kneel. She wondered if this was how Shadow Weaver knelt for Hordak. If she knelt for him. If it looked different if she knelt in earnest. Angella wondered what Hordak thought of her, his intimidating commanding officer. Turned traitor after a flagrant dishonour was put upon her person by Hordak, if she was to believe Shadow Weaver’s story. She didn’t.  
Angella knelt down as well, she took up the brush.  
“Then this is the last I have seen of you today?” Shadow Weaver inquired.  
“Yes.“  
“Good.“  
Angella plucked the hair out of the brush and kept the strands in her hand.  
“What will you do with those?” No answer, of course.  
She walked to a vanity table where the brush got its own home in the top drawer.  
It occured to Angella that she should remove more objects from this room, just in case. Chances were there were scissors present here, and worse.  
She returned to Shadow Weaver, to take up the towels and mirror.  
“You have lovely hands.” Angella froze in her tracks.  
“You do not get to say such things.”  
She walked on in anger.  
“Your majesty?” No mask could hide her amused smirk. This was easy, too easy. Which was fun. At the same time, Shadow Weaver feared she would get bored very soon at this rate. She had to find something more interesting to do with her time than verbally poking at Angella.  
“I meant no offence.”  
“You certainly meant something.”  
Shadow Weaver opened her arms, holding her palms up, elegant, deceptively calm, a symbol of peace.  
“Will I see you again tomorrow?”  
“Every day, as I told you. Two meals, one bath. I shouldn't take up much of your time.”  
The queen turned away again.  
Shadow Weaver beheld the moons van Etheria, she thought of her fateful spell. When those same moons had shone and more.  
Soon another spell plagued her mind. One she had not thought about in decades. It turned itself over and over. 

“Here you go, one mirror redelivered, unharmed.”  
Castaspella checked the object before her. “Clear as ice.”  
“The mirror that held her face.” She continued, overdramatically as her daughter. ”It knows the answer to your question and it won’t ever tell or show you. Shall you take it to Mystacor with you for further analysis? Or frame it and put it on your wall? Is your curiosity appeased? Will it ever be?”  
Castaspella rolled her eyes.  
“Fine, mock me.”  
“I’ll have you know that was the greatest risk we’ll take.” The queen was serious now.  
“I know.”  
“You were right, it probably embarrassed her when I gave her this.”  
“How could you tell?”  
Angella shrugged. A ghost of her perpetual sadness returning to her.  
“She alternates between being hostile and giving weird compliments.”  
“She is testing how to approach and manipulate you?”  
“Probably. I can handle it.”  
“And what is that?”  
“Oh, a handful of hair. I thought it wisest to dispose of this in your presence. This first time at least. In case it explodes and kills me.” Angella’s hand burned bright with white hot light. The hairs shriveled, disintigrated into ashes and then into nothingness. No haunting smoke or screams.  
“It is almost disappointing.”  
“I believe we have established the best way of getting rid of that.” Angella smiled. “Casta, I am starting to think we can do this.“

\-------  
If I ever type Castaspella as CastaSpella, forgive me, I think it looks prettier that way. And if I change it to SpellaCasta, that is me being a scatterbrain. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

It is a long way to the fluff, we will get there.  
\------

The memory of almost dying ghosted through her body and mind, then mercifully settled on the very specific recollection of insulting the queen when dying. A tender memory. She had almost forgotten about it, until now. She would like to try that again very soon. It would be a pleasant way to start her day.  
She jolted awake.  
She heard another crash just outside of her room. She was getting overly familiar with those noises both in the corridor as outside her windows. They were Adora attempting to break in, which never failed to bring a smile to Shadow Weaver's face, even as she slept. She did not sleep peacefully as it was. She was used to sleeping deep within her shadows. Before the whole Catra catastrophe her living darkness would coil around her as she slept. Her powers brought their own flavour of company and warmth to her during the night. A sensory embrace that she deeply missed. She was lacking in powers and this place was lacking in shadows. Light could not provide much comfort.  
She reminded herself there was a time when she was used to these levels of brightness. She tried not to think too much on her shift in powers, Light, Shadow, it should not change her ambitions. She could wield both. She could live in either and prosper. Not long ago her shadows had felt as at home as she once had at Mystacor, if not more. Seeing as she had to play by enforced rules during her time at Mystacor. She had felt stifled there. She had grown more into her own with the Horde, ironic that, since the Horde was in many, harsher ways the more oppressive one.  
Sending out shadows was different to dwelling in a place like this in person and for a long time. If only she could be here in shadow.  
She did not mind sleeping on floor. She had been welltrained to live without such luxuries as a bed. Warriors should be able to survive anywhere whatever the sleeping conditions and make do with whatever food was available. This room far outshone her Horde cell. She had been mocking the difference. Piece of cake. Despite these facts, she found her body expected a certain softness when held in an environment that looked as cushioned as this one.  
The incessant droning sunlight was giving her a severe headache. The headache had in fact over the hours evolved in something more similar to a hangover. She could not close the curtains herself, the bother this provided was indeed extraordinarily aggrivating.  
At this point her sleep at least still benefited from exhaustion. She could rest, fading in and out of dreams. She even managed to sleep soundly for several hours. Soon, once she was sufficently recovered, it would become more taxing to achieve sleep here. It could become a near impossible trial in this light. She hoped she would get used to it or she could have something done to the light’s sensational blaring.  
There was a bowl placed beside her, indicating that she had missed her breakfast-date. Judging by the substance it was not food made to be left standing this long before eating it. It looked like goo now.  
She stretched herself out, her limbs ached. Her foot hit the shield, that smarted. She had to consider the confines to her circle more carefully. It was quite small. She heard her bones crack and protest as she rose from her sleeping position. These long-held curled up poses were going to give her hell. She would have to keep herself in shape somehow. The circle was ill- suited for pacing. She did not feel like becoming dizzy. Though she expected she would be pacing the days away anyway in no time. It was important for her to stay strong. She began stretch exercises that she intended to make a daily habit of. All in all it was not bad to stay here. The space available to her was merely a challenge for an exstensive stay.

Angella sat at the table, worrying her brow, her hands trapped in the same worry in her hair. It was a stark contrast to the motivated Angella of last night.  
These past few days she had seen more of Shadow Weaver than she ever had expected to. Thankfully most of that time, after the healing, the sorceress had been asleep. Seeing her sleep was not a difficult task. If she was to be only a heap on the floor to Angella, that suited her fine, and so Angella slid in a bowl of breakfast grains into the circle that morning.  
Shadow Weaver’s robes looked cumbersome as tar in the sunlight of BrightMoon. Her mask was tilted slightly, in an attempt to keep the light from her eyes. Not even fatigue made her less prudent. The mask was still placed so there was no skin visible and it was set firmly in place somehow so it would not slide any further in the negligence of sleep.  
Angella had felt safe, until she returned to reclaim the untouched bowl and the sorceress lay, still asleep, wrapped up in cloth, struggling on with her robes, part of her dress dragged up with one hand now, a clenched fist held to her face to service as a cushion or shield, one leg sticking out.

Angella could not move. She could not walk forward. Only stand there, humbled, next to the closed door. She could not take the breakfast away. She could not risk waking her. So much fabric to that dress and ... pulled so in discomfort... to reveal a surface of grey in various hues, dark lines that possessed something of the appearance of broad veins, or maybe sharp cut-out rivers, but not really. Much of it were scars, that was certain. Unnatural ones. There were thin scratches and dried up blood around her ankle, a blotchy red. This surprised her, the colour. Shadow Weaver can never be dull, even her blood has to be dramatic.  
The red, the many greys from pale to dark, the black of her hair, the reds and black in her dress. They made for powerful contrasts. It was, in its way, very alluring to look at. But far too dangerous to be looking at. Around the ankle her leg disappeared again under cloth. Angella assumed Shadow Weaver had lost her shoes in some dark place.  
The queen inched back to the door. Opened it, snuck out, closed it, ruffled her wings to get the tension out. She prayed the sorceress had not heard or seen her.

“How goes the prisoner?” Castaspella said when she arrived, to break Angella’s thoughts.  
“Asleep.” She noted the familiar hint of sadness to the queen’s eyes. “What is it?”  
“She is demonscarred. Heavily. Do you know what we used to do with demonscarred people?”  
“Yes, I know. And I dare say so does she. That explains why she left Mystacor so swiftly to join Hordak and seek shelter with the other forces of evil.”  
“Don’t feel sorry for her.” Angella berated.  
“It looks like you are.”  
“What?”  
“Feeling sorry for her. We knew about this, Angie. I read it in the reports.”  
“Yes, and Micah told me. Many times.”  
“I can pass the files on to you. I have been rereading the reports on her theatrical exit. She had a difficult character to begin with."  
“I know.”

\------  
Not quite where I wanted to end today but I am pressed for time.


	9. Scars

“So not even She-ra's power can undo demonscars...” Angella pondered.  
Shadow Weaver had hoped, or something that dared near hope, that it would. She had asked for a mirror before a blanket or anything useful. What did this say about her as a person?  
And if she had been completely healed, would she have kept it hidden for years to come? To be smug about it under her mask and keep her natural appearance as an ace up her sleeve to be used when it was most convenient to her?  
Angella shook her head. “We have no idea how to treat a prisoner. None of us do. We have too little experience.”  
Angella’s fingers lingered pensively on her forehead. Trying to push her thoughts out, expell them, instead of trying to formulate them. I saw the scars. She can never know I saw them. What if she did it on purpose? To mark me as next person to perish by her hand?  
“Then start with what you do know.”  
“We need a plan.”  
“We have a plan. It’s worked so far.”  
“She has been here several days.”  
“Yes and she is still alive and imprisoned. It is a success.”  
“We can’t grant her a step outside of that circle. If we let her out even once she will make her inevatibly escape.”  
Castaspella noticed Angella breathing too fast. She needed to calm her down. “Recapitulate with me, what was our topic for today?“  
“She is going to need a change of clothes...”  
“Do you want to give her our clothes? She won’t like our style.”  
“We can’t know that, but it is the safest option I see. The question is do we even have clothes that are servicable to someone who covers herself from head, ears, to toe, to fingerknuckles... Only the guards’ uniforms come close.”  
Castaspella was wrinkling her nose.  
“Do you have a better idea?”  
“We could try unearthing her clothes from Mystacor, but I think those are long gone. How about a quick wash? Throw a bucket of water over her?”  
“No.  
“This is not a hotel. We already spoil her. When you bring her water and towels to wash herself in the evening.... do that routine, but take her clothes while she is washing and return them afterwards.”  
“And do this every few days? I think not, besides she’ll be sure to kill us if we’ve seen her uncovered.  
“Etheria to Angella, we use a changing screen.”  
“It gives her too much oppurtunity if we have guards drag that into her space all the time.”  
“Oh.“  
“How about my royal tailor? Why not have them come in and fashion her a suitable dress?”  
“Without touching her?”  
“They can make a replica of her current dress.”  
“You are still running a hotel, Angella.”  
“Hear me out, we can have her clothes measured for a copy and then alternate between two or more versions of the same dress. I can carry a freshly cleaned one to her daily with her washing towels. If only we can convince her to give us her robes just once. There will be no commotion directly around her that she can use to possibly break the circle.”  
“That does sound like a usable plan. Do you want to draw straws on who gets to tell her the good news?”  
“I want to keep her contacts limited...”  
“I know, I know I was trying to make a joke.”

There was a completely unnecessary knock on the door.  
Oh mighty queen of the castle, what scowl will you be wearing today? Shadow Weaver loved to envision her face already.  
As the door opened the signs on it flashed, Shadow Weaver knew by now what they said. One a polite name tag “Evil Sorceress” because Shadow Weaver apparently was too difficult a name or too much of a pain to put on there. Maybe they were expecting more visitors answering to the nominative Evil Sorceress?  
The second plaque was a caring suggestion “keep out” and the most recent one read “ADORA” firmly x’ed out.  
The queen entered. She had gone for a look of ‘forced indifference’. Lovely  
“Come here.” Shadow Weaver said with a gently beckoning hand. Angella knew that if she had her powers that mere innocent-looking gesture would force her closer.  
Though her hand reached no further than the barrier of her circle, her arm cast a shadow that reached all the way to the door, touching Angella. The queen walked away from under it. The light fell harsh as a blade from behind Shadow Weaver. Angella had to remind herself that whatever Shadow Weaver may be, not even she can influence the Brightmoon light.  
She walked, almost tracing the wall, to approach the circle from the side. She would not walk straight to Shadow Weaver if that was what she expected. Shadow Weaver had to turn with her and she did. Shadow Weaver stayed close to the barrier, placing her hand to its shining surface when Angella did begin to near her.  
“And what is the meaning of this?” Shadow Weaver asked, her mask raised up to watch the queen closely. She had miscalculated somehow. She thought her almost eager closeness would unsettle the queen, but the effect was all wrong, she could not help but feel small compared to the queen when standing before her like this. Perhaps in the future she should stay down to hide her height, instead of meeting her head on. She had played threatening from a reclined position before. In the Frightzone she had been flung on the floor more times than she cared to remember. By Hordak, by enemies, by allies, by the forces she wielded. She had never let it get to her.  
Shadow Weaver’s foot, hidden under cloth, shoved the bowl nonchalantly out of her circle. This rather rude action met with precious little reaction from Angella.  
“With your hands, next time. We are not barbarians.” Angella bowed without complaint to slide the new tray in and take the breakfast back. First to go through was a clean glas and a pitcher of water, noticeably not made of glass so it could impossibly be used to interfere with the lines of the spell or to cut. Shadow Weaver observed the queen’s wings, tensed, ready to rise and fly off if Angella felt a faint touch of discomfort.  
“Ah Angella... your pretty wings must be the envy of all the local birds.”  
“Knock it off. You have only been here for three days and already your insults are wearing thin.”  
Shadow Weaver shrugged it off. “There are only so many snipes I can make at dear Micah and his unfortunate death. He was my star pupil afterall.”  
Angella’s defiance was a silent and surpressed one.  
Shadow Weaver cast one look at the plate. “You must be joking. That is not a meal.”  
“It is Friday. We have ice cream this day every week. Everyone gets this, you don’t have no reason to feel personally affronted. It’s practically law here since Glimmer’s birth.”  
“To commemorate your suffering?”  
For a moment Angella imagined stomping on the woman’s foot and hear how she would scream for a change.  
She would not be as petty as her adversary.  
Better to leave the ice cream, pancakes and warm apple with her and let her decide for herself how childish she wanted to act here.  
“The tailor will be here in the morning.”  
She could see the mask blink.  
They were calling a tailor for a prisoner? When they couldn’t even give her a bed to sleep in?”  
“Oh, you won’t meet them. We need at least one spare attire for you. You can’t feel clean having to keep wearing that. “  
“What... what will that spare look like?”  
“Exactly the same, hopefully.” Angella looked her up and down, now was the time Shadow Weaver felt attacked, more than by the ice cream. “Do you need any adjustments made? Would you prefer a nightgown? Or a change in colours?”  
It had been almost endearing so far, the queen so clearly keeping a schedule to manage their interactions and Brightmoon’s quaint sense of decorum and hospitality, how far they would go in everything, however trivial, to keep her put. Quirks, so far. How they started to bite now.  
Angella narrowed her eyes at the jagged fringe of Shadow Weaver’s skirt.  
“Isn’t your dress too long for you? Can you run in it?”  
“I manage.” Shadow Weaver reluctantly answered. I floated, would sound silly somehow. “Clean my robes with magic.” Shadow Weaver protested.  
“No, we are not using magic. Not even for your clothes. You’ll pluck it right out of the air or out of the fabric itself.”  
The sorceress took that as a compliment.  
“That is not impossible...” she agreed.  
“Then we...”  
“No, it is not worth my discomfort.” she reasoned, despite her best effort her voice sounded close to hissing.  
She tilted her head, her greasy hair fell decorously to the side. “I hope you may consider taking my wishes into account. As you know, I won’t always be stuck in this joke of a prison and you do not want to be on receiving end of my wrath. We are on same side now, these precautions of yours are as useless as they are unecessary.  
I am here to care for Adora and defeat Hordak.”  
Angella’s mouth turned crooked, she couldn’t stomach it when Shadow Weaver tried to feed her nonsense.  
Shadow Weaver sighed. “She needs me more than ever. She needs someone who knows how to command her powers. You lot are so ignorant of spellwork, it is pathetic.”  
“Shadow Weaver...”  
“I can teach you, you could be so much more, so much better.”  
“I am perfect as I am.”  
Shadow Weaver opted for an enigmatic silence. Angella’s face had turned sour.  
“I haven proven myself a fit ruler to my kingdom over and over again. I know all I wish to know. You possess no teachings that I want to learn. Are we clear?” She would not be controlled so easily nor be swayed by promises that ultimately only served Shadow Weaver. She was not a child hungry to find herself and grow more powerful. This offer did make her wonder if the sorceress ever bothered to talk with adults or people independant enough that she could not see herself holding them in the palm of her hand. Maybe Shadow Weaver’s ambitions were so boundless she never met such a person.  
“But you do wish me powerless and naked?” Shadow Weaver sounded oddly hesitant.  
Angella composed herself with even breaths, this woman was unbelievable. “There will be a screen.” she muttered, knowing now how Castaspella must have felt when she had to point this out to her.  
“There will be no one but you?”  
“Yes, my guards will place the screen. After that, just me.”  
“Don’t you trust your own guards? It is unwise to let no one but yourself with me, you are giving me direct access to the crown.”  
Such an obvious attempt to instill doubt in her. Angella was not about to divert from the topic at hand. “It will only take a few minutes for us to make the measurements.”  
She said no more, she waited until Shadow Weaver expressed some form of approval or accaptance of her fate. When at last Shadow Weaver nodded, Angella turned on her heels and headed for the door.  
“Angella!”  
For a moment she thought the queen was going to ignore her.  
She was relieved when she slowly began to retrace her steps.  
“Good girl.” Shadow Weaver said calmly. It made Angella’s stomach pulled in protest. She shook her head, her lips took on a bitter smile.  
“You can stop that.”  
“What?”  
“Don’t tell me you use that inflection with your students?”  
“Why not?”  
Angella looked at her as though she was going to give her a very stern talking to.  
“Are you criticising my teaching methods or just my voice?”  
“All of you.”  
“The fault lies within your mind.”  
Angella tried very hard not to roll her eyes. “I’ll see you tonight, if you have any more questions you can ask me then. Try to eat something.”  
“Close the curtains for me.”  
“No.”

Shadow Weaver provided Angella with a silent washing session.  
The queen, in turn, talked little to her too. She reached her towels, the washing bowl.  
“I brought you an extra towel for your hair.” It was small and pink.  
"Do you always wear pink?” asked Shadow Weaver.  
“Do you?”  
Silence after that.  
Shadow Weaver could not help teasing Angella. It was clearly not the best tactic to work on her, yet somehow it felt the most natural and especially most enjoyful for her to explore. She might consider a change in tactics soon, as Angella was getting fed up with it already and this would spoil Shadow Weaver’s chances of ever getting a grip on her captor. But until then, it was fun.  
She remained silent. She washed herself, called the queen back in, brushed her hair as the pink towel was draped over her shoulders, dried her hair some more with the towel, brushed more.  
"Leave the curtains closed.”  
“No.”  
Angella sat on the small stool again, waiting, watching Shadow Weaver’s wrists move as she brushed her hair, watching her hands for a sudden movement that would indicate an attempt to escape.  
Shadow Weaver had always been talented at masking. She took a slow breath. Steeling herself. Erradicating any uncertainty from her voice. No fidgiting. She spoke as if the idea had been her own: “I expect you to deliver me breakfast in the morning. After this you will immediately return and I will hand you my clothes. You will shield me from all sides, put up a screen, close the curtains, anything it takes and give me something to wear while I am waiting for my clothes back.”  
“Fine.”  
“You can go now.”  
“You are dismissing me?”  
“Yes I am.”  
Angella removed the hair from the brush, dropped the brush back in its place, took the towels from the floor and went for the door.  
“Angella, the curtains...”  
“No.”


	10. Chapter 10

43 kudos! Thank you! The story' s barely even begun. Applause and chocolates for all! ^^

\----------

Adora once swore she would visit their prisoner, Shadow Weaver, just to talk. Nothing more. It was not a terribly encouraging precedent, Angella thought as she stood before the door, ready to enter. I am going to have her give me her clothes, nothing more.  
The eyes slid darkly to the side when Angella entered the room, flanked by guards on either side. Shadow Weaver looked up at her, as she lay perfectly comfortably reclined on the floor. She made no effort to change her position for politeness' sake. She appeared as though her heavy robes were melting in the warm sunlight. She was bearing it well. It was a mere minute since the queen had taken away her finished breakfast. The guards spoke not a word and made no eyecontact. They must have been warned against doing so. Neither did Angella. They looked as imposing and merciless as ones clad in pastel colours could look. Straight as arrows, even Angella's wings looked sharp in the way she carried them.  
"You seek to intimidate me?"  
The guards advanced on her. Their identities kept safe behind their helmets. "Place it and leave." 'It' was a tall, black, wooden screen.  
"Queen Angella," Shadow Weaver spoke slowly, her voice intentionally coated in a rich calmth. It would make anyone relax despite their best intentions to keep their guard up. " I see you have brought me company.”  
The screen was put before her, shielding her gaze from Angella. It was planted just inside the circle. The guards had not breached the circle themselves with as much as a finger. They turned on their heels and she heard them march out again.  
“I thought you were bluffing when you told me there would only be you here with me."   
Shadow Weaver found she had inched back against the circle-shield.   
Still no reply, not a sound. It pinched, somehow.  
"Angella? Will you give me more icecream as a reward for cooperating in this?" she sneered.   
She crawled against the changing screen, judged it sturdy.  
Angella made her way around the room closing every curtain. Shadow Weaver watched until the queen stepped back out of view. Never once looking her way.  
"Will this do?" Angella asked. A dress was flung over the screen. It was a glossy dark grey gown. It could be velvet, Shadow Weaver reconned. It was creased, like her.  
Time to change. Undress. Shadow Weaver bit her lip. This was worse than imprisonment by Hordak, but at least it would should not take that long. She stood up, she unbound her dress and hoisted it up over her head. She hung it over the other half of the screen. Her robes felt warm from the morningsun. It was swiftly taken away.   
Shadow Weaver looked up to observe the many glittering trinkets and charms, windchimes, gems and stained glass decorations that dripped and dangled from the ceiling. An ode to light. She watched the gold swirles laid into the ceiling. Someone's interpretation of what a starry night looked like. The spell that haunted her the day before pounded in her head, caught there as a obstinate song. She forced herself to reach for the dress, to reach for cover.  
Her hand encountered something else.

Angella had taken to the task of neatly smoothing out the wrinkled fabric as she waited when Shadow Weaver’s hand grabbed over to take the cloth. Black vines writhed over the hand and wrist. Her hand covered Angella's, startled, Shadow Weaver reached out again as if to soothe her. Granting her a good look at her skin. She stroked the queen’s hand once as she would to comfort a pet then retracted her hand together with the dress. Angella felt frozen.  
She could have been dead. Shadow Weaver could have pulled her in. She could have done, Angella-did-not-know-what, to steal her strength from her.   
"Were you planning on staying here?"  
"No, of course not. I... have another dress to keep you covered while you wait if that one does not fit. It is a pale violet. Unlike this one it does have long sleeves but the neckline is wide. I thought you might prefer a red shift but could not find one.” Angella was gushing the words out, letting Shadow Weaver know what she had promised herself not to divulge, namely how far she prepared to take Shadow Weaver’s personal preferences into account while caring for her.   
"This one will suffice." It was not a perfect fit. "Are these dresses yours?"  
"No."  
She heard Angella hesitate again. "Why are you still here?"   
"There is one more item." For a moment Shadow Weaver did not catch her meaning. There was only one topic that could make Angella sound this uncomfortable to inquire about.   
“This is about my mask isn’t it? You are not taking it."   
"As if we would..." Angella cleared her throat. "It is broken."   
"Yes." She had noticed.  
"Does it need mending? We can make you one."  
The sorceress sounded as if she was laughing, as if this was all a bad ruse to take her dignity from her. She did not believe the queen to be sincere.  
"It is cracked, but I fixed it myself as well as I might before Hordak... he..."   
“...cast you out? Was Hordak your lover?”  
A husky laugh, almost like coughing. "No, Angella, no, he most certainly was not my lover."   
So this is the kind of ambitious they credited her to be, the kind that would sleep with her superior to become first commander.  
"Shadow Weaver, I will be leaving you briefly. I have several questions to ask you when I return. It is routine."   
“How can it be routine? I am your first prisoner.”  
“But you are not the first person to come here from under the Horde’s influence.”


	11. Chapter 11

“It is important for us to have better knowledge of the effect the Horde’s rule has on its soldiers. Some of the questions will be personal. You may pass if you would rather answer them another day. It is still routine, even if it is a new thing. I want you to take this seriously.”  
Angella felt strengthened by the screen inbetween them. She had put her hands on her hips, her arms at a confident angle, to have herself feel stricter, taller, more at liberty to speak.  
“And why should I demystify myself? I can easily give you information on how to stop the Horde without disclosing myself to a crystal pure being like yourself for judgement. You will find you can extract more valuable information from me than anything Adora could offer you. I would be willing.”  
“You misunderstand the objective.”  
“The Frightzone instills fear merely by the look of the place. The Horde makes use of this when training their forces. The Horde spreads terror. It is not shy away from resorting to abuse, trauma and torture and brainwashing if it makes their warriors stronger or more dedicated. As you know better than most. I have been given to understand that the main portion of these practices happen by your hand.”  
“Why would you want to ask the inflictor what torture feels like?”  
“Because I am not going to make exceptions. We need to understand this to help other survivors.”  
“I don’t want to answer your questions. Besides, you know better than to believe anything I say.”  
Shadow Weaver heard the queen walk away and close the door behind her.

Angella flew to the room where CastaSpella and the tailor were measuring the blood-and-what-not tainted robes. She was wringing her hands together. CastaSpella was quick to catch on.  
"What happened?"  
Angella had a habit of tugging her gloves when she was nervous. Castaspella had grown used to this many years ago, back when she was still a tiny student herself and Angella had made annual state visits to Mystacor. Casta had, at the time, imagined the glove tugging to be a magical princess thing. It was an unintentionally created mystery that needed solving. She needed reasons more convincing than nerves or a sensitiveness to itchy cloth.  
When she grew into a teenager and her brother was betrothed to the angelic royal woman Casta reinterpretated the gesture as Angella being secretive about the way her hands and arms looked. The gloves were there to divert attention from blazing powers, from how large her hands were, how thick her wrists underneath or how old or something, definitely something more horrible than them matching her outfit. In truth, Casta had just been a bored young woman desperate for a friendship with her brother’s intended. Angella had never caught on to this. She was a solitary creature who tended not to notice offers of social companionship. CastaSpella’s quest to become best friends was still ongoing and no secret. It had probably succeeded, she was the closest person to Angella with the exception of Glimmer.  
"She touched my hand." Casta came closer to fret over her as she so liked to do. Angella did not like that."By accident I think, or I would like to believe."  
"Are you okay? " CastaSpella asked.  
"Dont worry about it."  
"Be careful."  
Angella folded her arms protectively. "You can inspect my hand later for any traces of magical corruption" She rubbed her hands over her upperarms as if she were cold.  
“How are things here? "  
"Almost done. We didn’t make a complete mess of it."  
The tailor cast a positively insulted look. “The layers to the dress are more complicated than foreseen. We made all the measurements. We will try to make an exact replica by this evening. The fabric may be a bit different.”  
“Can you make it lighter? It is a warm room.” Darkness still catches light.  
“As you wish.”  
CasteSpella sighed, "You are the one with the hardest job. Can you go back in there?"  
"Yes, of course."  
“Show me your hand.” Angella removed her glove.  
“There. It looks the same.”  
“I sense no taint. I’ll do a proper spell when you return.”  
She pulled her glove back on. Angella thought of the comment Shadow Weaver had passed on her hands, when wrapped up in gloves, not ever showing her her hands suddenly seemed laughably important.  
CastaSpella handed Angella the worn robes back.  
“Angie, if she frightens you...”  
“Once I get nightmares about her I swear I’ll reconsider my decision of making all the necessary visits myself.”  
I am a being of light, Angella reminded herself, I am the safest choice to guard her, shadows like her can’t touch me. 

The infamous knock returned to the door.  
“Angella?” Shadow Weaver asked, softer than usual.  
“Yes, it is me.”  
“Enter.”  
Angella approached and expertly flung the dress over the screen.  
"You didn’t wash it yet then?"  
"No,” Angella swallowed an apology. “we’ll have a clean new one for you by nightfall and then we can wash this one.”  
“Would you like to keep the other dresses?"  
"No thank you."  
“I’ll be just outside.”  
When she was ready she called the queen back into the room.  
Angella took the grey dress which now lay over the screen and gathered it in her arms. The screen was taken away by the guards, discreet and firm. They disappeared with it, closing the door behind them.  
Shadow Weaver lay down in her circle like before.  
“Would this be a good time for questions?" Angella sat down too, not far from her.  
“I don’t see the point.”  
“To know the damage the Horde worked on you, personally. And I will let the room dimmed a while longer.“  
“Why do I, personally, interest you?” Shadow Weaver drew herself up to face the queen. It had been very long since someone was concerned about her. Shadow Weaver was unused to the feeling of being taken into account. She was somewhat intrigued.  
“You don’t.”  
This made Shadow Weaver smile to herself.


	12. Chapter 12

If she could kindle Angella’s interest, if as she suspected the queen truly was curious about her, she could use that. She could test that theory, work on it. There was no rush. She could keep it as a last resort. She would keep her veil of mystery throughout.   
Shadow Weaver pulled herself to her knees as well to sit as a dark mirror image, stylish, controlled, before the queen. Angella’s hair blended in with the sky, a peach pink, only her hair had stars in it and the sky did not. This woman who would have let her die. Shadow Weaver drew her gaze over her. She had adored her for such honesty. ‘You are really dying, aren’t you?’ This woman would have let her die. This woman who had outright said so with the full intention of watching that unfold before her. Oh the things she could confide to such a person. Something moved within herself, one second to the next, looking at this innocence in soft pink hues.   
To see someone dying before you, cripled to the floor and do nothing but express how deserved it was. Angella’s opinion had not mattered back when she lay dying, but that moment stood out days later and she felt hungry for... retribution? She was not quite certain. Something needed to be done and she would certainly see to it and it would make her...relieved?   
“I will answer what I can.” This questionnaire was important to Angella. Shadow Weaver would be listened to. It was too good a chance to let slip. She would win Angella’s attention. “You will have to be more specific about what you mean by damage?"   
"I’d like to start with Hordak, specifically."  
Shadow Weaver flinched.  
“Please try to answer.”   
“There is not much left to say.”  
“In the Horde even loyal soldiers are frequently punished by their superiors. Did he lash out whenever you ‘failed’?”  
“Yes. Firm punishments work, it is as simple as that. You have to be stern, demanding, unyielding. It needs to be done. Sometimes you have to twist everything they believe in.”  
“He has hurt you?”  
“Yes.” The reluctance in Shadow Weaver’s voice was more than evident, but she was prepared to go to some lengths to get a grip on the queen of Etheria.  
“How?”  
“I won’t tell you.”  
“Was it deserving?”  
“That is irrelevant.”  
“Has he raped you?”  
This was too awful a thing to lie about. Shadow Weaver stayed silent. Let Angella think the worst. No, she could not. She shook her head.   
“But he has hurt you.”  
Shadow Weaver nodded.   
“I want Hordak dead.”  
“He is the only one who knows how weak you are, isn’t he?”  
“Weak?” The word like a stone in her mouth or a punch to the stomach.  
“So it is logical you would want such knowledge to die with him.”  
Shadow Weaver spoke through gritted teeth. “I had made myself indespensable to him. All these years I fought for my position. He threw me away. I was a tool he thought he no longer needed. The idiot.”  
All the powers she had gathered, all her efforts, all she had achieved for herself. She stood nowhere. Bereft of everything but her life. There had never been a doubt of her being the most industrious, the best, never to be taken for granted, never to be disposed of lightly, certainly not to be disconnected from her powersource and left for dead on a whim. Degraded to garbage. She hated the time when she had assumed her life had been her own. When she had believed her time had been her own. Degraded to a possession for most of her life without even knowing. Hordak had thought he owned her. It turned out he had been right. Leaving him had almost cost her her life. She wanted to gut him for what he had done.   
Angella’s voice shook her back to the moment.   
"Adora said..."  
"Oh, Adora said..."   
"Your powers were dependant on him."  
"And?"  
“You must have hated that."  
"Sometimes. I am not as opposed to a partnership as you may believe as long as... "   
"It makes you stronger?"   
"He betrayed me. I want him dead. I will do it myself."   
“He cut off your powersupply to the black garnet. You were forced to come here to escape.”  
Shadow Weaver nodded in such an irritated manner that it made Angella consider leaving things there.   
“You were his most loyal subject and for him to do that seems unlikely to me. I will tell you what I suspect you of.”  
“Oh?”  
“There are times when, let’s say a general of an enemy force is humiliated, punished, whipped, had his nose cut off.   
This enemy who once held high rank now disgraced beyond any reason will knock upon our door. This is all merely theoretical. He would win our trust by leading us into several succesfull battles and endeavours, making use of secret information, passages and we return victorious. When we in time trust this person, then he betrays us and we will all be slaughtered by his true Lord. His loyalty had never wavered. The mutilations were, in most cases, selfinflicted.”   
Shadow Weaver held her head cocked at a strange angle.   
“What is it?”  
“You surprise me. You know of tactical stories. You are wrong though. I did not ruin my powers on purpose and I did not cut my nose off.”  
“You know I can’t believe anything you say.” Angella actually smiled.  
Shadow Weaver leaned over towards her.   
“Why would I want to be caught in a palace of burning bright light ruled by a jailor who enjoys depriving me of any decept sleep? This demure, sadistic being of pure light who could by all likeliness be capable of obliterating me if she but put her mind to it.”  
Angella knew Shadow Weaver would be touching her face if she could. Or at least the hand perched closest to her circle. A fallen creature’s hand caught in her hair. If she could. Shadow Weaver instinctively understood and misused the loneliness of others. The sorceress thought she had her.  
Angella wanted to stand up and shake this feeling off.   
“I am a queen in war time. What do you think I spend my time studying? Flowerdancing?”  
Angella wondered how people could hold conversations with Shadow Weaver. She would catch you in a conversation and her hands would be doing something completely else, she would come into your personal space and make you waver where you stood unable to comment on her behaviour and equally unable to continue your arugements.   
“Maybe...I mean there is nothing wrong with that. “ Shadow Weaver was leaning against the circle now, her legs slightly pulled up, her skirt drizzled down over the floor.   
“Isn’t there? According to you?”  
“I like flowers.”   
Angella shook her head. She touched my hand, we know how she is, tactile, she likes to establish a physical touch. It would be the first thing she would do, if she could. She would not attack me at first contact, first contact is to establish trust, that is all the accidental handtouch was, if it was anything.   
Queen Angella was not about to be snatched like that.  
“Adora couldn’t tell a rose from a daffodil. She doesn’t know a single thing about plants or animals.”  
“She knows which ones are poisonous.” Shadow Weaver argued.  
“Shouldn’t you have focused on teaching her the beauty of the world? Instead of having her destroy it and think it justified?”  
“I raised warriors. Playing around with flowers would hardly have helped the cause. “  
Angella veered up. She snatched the water pitcher straight from Shadow Weaver’s protected space. “I forgot to water the plants.“


	13. Plants

“Yes, the small one in the niche is looking exceptionally gloomy.”  
“You could have told me.”  
Shadow Weaver shrugged. “I liked that I was not suffuring alone.”  
“Did you value companionship this much in the Horde?”  
“Is this part of your great-important-questions?”  
“Yes, it is.”  
“You are rarely alone in the Horde.”  
Angella cleaned up the fallen leaves from the small plant. About half the leaves of the plant itself had turned an unhealthy darkbrown.  
“Did you have anyone to... be with? Talk to when you need someone.”  
Shadow Weaver adjusted her mindset to that of shiny good people who generally focus their wish for happiness in one specific stupid direction. She answered slowly. “The Horde does not encourage friendships or more intimate connections.”  
“Those of a romantic nature?”  
“Exactly.”  
“How...” Shadow Weaver was quick to cut her off. She could do without Angella’s oh-so-genuine wellmeaning wish to see all other people happy in some disturbing over the top traditional way that all creatures of light preferred.  
“It suits me fine. I never felt that partical temptation there. The Horde allows you to pursue other desires.” Angella’s hand trembled as she watered the small plant.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“Being nice and finding social connections, especially one lovey dovey special one, always were overvalued at Mystacor and put before all else. I found their mentality greatly lacking in many areas and incompatible with my personal priorities.”Angella looked a bit forlorn at the withered plant. “You need to cut the dead parts off. Then new ones can grow, some plants are like hydras.”  
“No,” Angella kept gardens of her own, she would not take advice. “I will give him a few days. The water will help cheer him up.”  
She walked to the next plant, opening the curtains on her way. It ruined the effect of her hair and the sky being the same colour. Now clear pink light bled from the sky, through the windows onto her skin.  
"Plants used to like me, once, not anymore.” Not since the darkness took hold of her. The Frightzone had no nature to make her feel bad about that particular change.  
“Where were you born? It wasn’t the Frightzone. How did you come to Mystacor?”  
“No. Pass.”  
“Last question.”  
The other plants were not in too bad a shape. A bit dried out. A bit crumpled. Angella walked over to the waterfeature, refilling the pitcher to feed a huge plant in an impressively sized vase.  
“What plants do you like most?” Of course, it was a question that did not matter. “I like vervain.” Angella offered.  
“Monstera.” Shadow Weaver answered.  
“Violets.” Angella said, walking over to the water cascade again to refill and give water where she still had to.  
“Daisies.”  
“Really? Rosemary and pansies.” Angella chanced, looking rather pleased as she finished opening all curtains.  
“Fennel and columbine?”  
“No, not those.” Angella stayed quiet as the filled the pitcher one last time. “And rue.”  
They were back on Micah.

Angella bowed before Shadow Weaver, to refill her glass, already pushed outside of the circle. She was one more plant that needs water. Shadow Weaver faintly radiated annoyance.  
“It is a warm day. You should drink enough. Call the guards if you need more water, then I will return to bring it to you.“  
She passed the glass and pitcher through the blue non-wall.  
“Will you take my favourite flowers into account?” Shadow Weaver asked.  
“No, not even for a second.” Angella took the grey dress into her arms again, clutching the cloth close, preparing to her exit. “It is just nice to know.”  
She turned around, reconsidered. Since she had officially witnessed a hint of the scars, she decided to make a comment on it, in her guest’s best interest of course.  
“The plants we tend to here have many uses, one of which is balms and lotions for damaged skin. Would you like me to bring you some to try?”  
“No.”  
Angella strayed a moment before the door. She observed the room again, as she would often do right before leaving, as if to look if Shadow Weaver could possibly have moved anything.  
“Then I will leave you to your scheming.”  
Queen Angella also carried the small battered plant out with her.

The second meal Angella limited herself to a warning that the food was hot, the cook had overdone it with the spices. She refilled the pitcher once more when she took the plate away again. 

Shadow Weaver was half asleep, her head burried in her arm battling against the light when Angella returned with a folded red package in her arms, in addition to the usual towels.  
She refilled the waterbowl and took out the brush. She gave these to Shadow Weaver. Shadow Weaver passed her hands as close as possible to Angella’s. Hoping to brush them together, but this was impossible because the queen kept well clear of the space within the circle. Angella seemed not to notice.  
“No more questions?”  
“No.”  
“Good. Anything else I can do for your amusement?” Shadow Weaver scowled  
“You can try this on. For yourself. “  
Angella left her to change. She stood with her guards until Shadow Weaver called. This proceeded without a hitch or unwanted glimpse. When Angella re-entered Shadow Weaver wore the new dress. She was even standing up for inspection.  
“You... it looks beautiful.”  
“Don’t say that.” It looked the exact same as the other one had. Every layer faithfully refashioned. Shadow Weaver liked that they had not simplified or changed anything about her dress.  
“I was raised to be polite. I admit I don’t like the Horde specific design, but I can appreciate colours outside of those costumary to Bright Moon.” It was preposterous, these people’s compulsion for being nice.  
Angella carried the waterbowl away for emptying. “No gratitude for your first fresh new dress?”  
“None that I am willing to voice.” Angella disposed of the used water and looked at her and the skintight dress again.  
Glimmer was fond of making her own clothes. She hated her mother criticising them of course, even if they were badly made and falling apart. With Glimmer the best approach was to do a little dance together to check if it fit well enough.  
“Can you raise your arms? I need to know if it pinches anywhere. I don’t want it to tear. Now sideways? Can you turn around?” She didn’t. “How about your waist...” Angella stepped closer, as though to place her hands there. Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened. Angella refrained herself from helping. A soft, reasonable whisper: “I wasn’t going to touch you.”  
“The dress is fine.”  
Angella knelt before her, Shadow Weaver followed suit. Angella was careful as usual not to touch as she passed the old robes, the bowl, the towels, the hairbrush, Shadow Weaver lingered a long time over the hairbrush, turning it around on the floor with her fingers, slowly inching it through the barrier. Angella would not reach for it before it was out completely.  
“How bad could it be to touch?” A demon’s whisper. It slipped out. Shadow Weaver hadn’t planned to comment upon it, only to keep inching closer, to keep experimenting every day with how close she could get, what she could make Angella do.  
“With you? Disastrous.” Angella mocked, not sounding as serious as she wanted to.  
“It would be easier to pass things directly from hand to hand.”  
But Angella would never pass her hand through the barrier, except for plant emergencies, apparently. Maybe there was hope. Shadow Weaver would always try.  
“Is there anyone you haven’t taken in completely and consequently overpowered by getting hold of as much as a finger?” Or worse, a thought of compassion and kindness.  
“By that logic you are already mine.”  
Shadow Weaver knew she sounded absolutely terrifying. It was very deliberate.  
Yet Angella rolled her eyes at her maliciousness.  
“You really should stop saying things like that.”  
Angella continued her chores, placing the empty waterbowl next to the waterfall, drawing the curtains open again, putting the hairbrush away after having plucked it. The queen, her maid, still.  
She collected the dirty clothes and towels and left without another word.  
Shadow Weaver lay back on the floor. She gazed up at the starry decorations. It was good to feel clean at last. An awful disquiet raged within her, firmly locked away. She could almost hear it.

\-------------------------------------------------

Some notes on the last few chapers:

I added the monstera plant afterwards, because of Diana Huh’s wonderful art and posts on twitter. I did not know the name of this plant before.  
I know little about gardening. I believed the plants in the room should be addressed –because they are pretty and Angella likes them- and since Shadow Weaver did not grow up in the Frightzone plants must have been among the things she genuinly missed. One thing I do know is Ophelia’s flowery madness scene. So I self-indulgently put that in. I wrote the tiny plants-and-flower motive in the story before the new season aired. I was delighted and amazed to learn my story and the show share a mention of daisies.  
And here I thought me making Shadow Weaver say daisies was stretching the fluffiness a bit far when writing this... apparently I am right on point. I have access to Shadow Weaver’s fluffy side. :p 

Another example of how completely self-indulgent this story is can be found in CastaSpella’s musings on Angella’s gloves. Wearing gloves because you are scared of your hands being too large and your wrists too broad, that is a Vivien Leigh reference. I love Vivien Leigh. She is one of my favourite actors ever. What captivating wit, what incomparable talent, what breathtaking beauty, her love for cats and all the good things in life, the dresses she got to wear, the list in endless. To know she was so insecure about her hands to wear gloves especially to mask them, I mean I adore gloves but really, such unnecessary nonsense. 

Shadow Weaver, what can I say, it is not healthy to like someone for mercilessly wanting you dead. Why did I think you would find this attractive?  
I don’t know what Angella’s inflection was like in the English version of the “you are really dying” phrase but in my language, that one time, it came across to me as almost funny in how utterly uncaring she said it and I loved it.


	14. Chapter 14

*runs over the finish line* I made it, I finally made it! I severely underestimated the past week(s).  
As a result you, dear readers, have unlocked a music list:

King of my castle- Wamdue Project  
Cure- Tristania  
Accelerate- Susanne Sundfør  
Küss Mich- Lafee  
I listen a rediculous lot to Liv Kristine's Vervain while writing this -which is why it got a title drop in the plants chapter+ vervain tea is delicious- especially the songs Creeper, Love Decay and Stronghold of Angels.  
Mandragora Scream's Luciferland album too, in particular the Veil of Neith song.  
Speaking of veiled ladies: Who is She- I, monster  
Theatre of Tragedy, the Velvet Darkness They Fear album most of all. Songs like Tanz der Schatten/ As the Shadows Dance and Bring forth ye Shadow (am I sensing a theme here?)  
Teachers- Omnia (cover, original by Leonard Cohen)  
Darkness, Darkness - Helium Vola  
Lotus- Tristania  
I wish I had an Angel- Nightwish  
Seven Devils- Florence and the Machine  
Konungen och Trollkvinnan -Garmarna  
Castle Down - Emilie Autumn  
Fake- the Tech Thieves (have you seen that Angella-Shadow Weaver video? I love it.)  
Prinzessin - Schandmaul  
Bei Nacht, Kiss -Deine Lakaien  
Hammer Horror -Kate Bush  
Nostalgia- Epica  
Demon Love, Hunger - ASP  
Lies- Evanescence  
Turn the Sky -Angelzoom  
Doll Parts -Hole  
Cornflake girl, Siren- Tori Amos  
Heaven's a Lie -Lacuna Coil  
Children will listen -Into the woods   
Selffulfilling prophecy- Scala  
Possession - Sarah Mclachlan

So... whenever I mention sunlight I of course mean moonlight as Bright Moon presumably has no sun, or other stars, only a plethora of moons providing light and warmth-from who knows where- in often vibrant pastel sky displays. I do operate by a certain day-night cycle, though both are very bright, mostly because I like the day-night distinction for the Beauty and the Beast/ Eros and Psyche Venus implications and I just like the duality of day and night. I like to act as if they are different worlds or planes of existence that unite or seperate reality as they see fit. Because I love the liminal spaces of dawn and dusk created by night and day, those will also be present. I absolutely expect the Bright Moon sky to be even more Extra at those times.   
.".. twilight... Long shadows on the hillsides... Evil shadows...No, no, peaceful shadows, the flutter of wings in the tree tops... The wings of bats. No, no, the wings of birds. From far off the barking of a dog... Barking because there are wolves about. Silence. I forbid you." Someone tell me to stop quoting this film and get on with it. "... Micah, look at me, what do you see in my eyes? .... DEATH."  
\+ I am overthinking this. I checked in Bright Moon pictures, it has a gorgeous night time sky in deep blues and purples (and no curtains) in the show. Ergo, the sky will do whatever it wants to do. -Mainly be pink.- 

I don't show it in the story but... I am very much in favour of lavatory visits and toothbrushing (I can see that work but am not going to fold it into the story now) and I am certain Bright Moon/Angella is too. My story just seems to struggle with this, it only occasionally remembers that underwear exists. I hope you can imagine some way that does work. Can this world be one where bra's aren't necessary? That would be nice.nI will just copy what insufficient reply I gave to a review pointing me to this problem: "the bathroom is the great weakness to my story. I tried to write it with escorted bathroom visits but that didn't work. It looks like it would give Shadow Weaver too great an advantage to even walk one corridor. :-P She'd try something too soon and Angella ended up almost dying. You will have to excuse the bathroom problem. Maybe imagine a chamberpot system that goes unmentioned because of a fued between me and the pot's ancestor. Or some magical beings need no bathroom excuse." 

Suspension of Disbelief and Storytellers' Logic, these Halls are yours, as I continue typing up a smidgen of this story... at long last.

Life outside of the Horde, life inside of a small space outside of the Horde, life after death. What was only several days felt like another week had passed since that tumultuous dressfitting day. The tedium was still pleasant at this stage. The unending glistening of wistfulness in the air just another fanciful luxury. A familiar tranquil atmosphere she thought she would never see again. When she thought about it there were many things she had believed she would not do again, her premonitions already broken in her few days here. Someone had seen her scars and she hadn't even scolded them. There was someone she could talk to about Micah, someone who had more insight in how he had fared after his most competent teacher took her leave.  
She should have achieved something by now, with Angella, some connection made that she could build on, but there was no change she could notice in her dutiful detainer. She had all the time of the world to have an objective take shape. If there was indeed anything she could do with Angella. She did not have to. Except for her own entertainment. She had hoped to find or make something of a more interesting nature out of this opportunity. She usually knew full well what she wanted to explore, play with and gain from. At the present these desires were strong yet undefined, presumably because of her very limited surroundings but then she liked working with meagre means just as well as going for a full blown attack. She was patient, too. A plan for escape was too trivial a thing to ponder much upon. Escape would find her soon enough. She was at ease here. She had expected to be. This place reminded her so much of the bright halls of Mystacor where she was once revered that it was impossible not to feel scandalously at home here. But where Mystacor had always made her feel an outcast, even once she outranked most of them, even when she had taught there longer than most, they had kept treating her as inferior and refused to admit it to her face. All this time ago.   
Bright Moon did not try to tell her otherwise. It let her calmly go her way and gave her silent permission to revel in her persona non grata status. When you... overlooked the technicallity of being locked-up. Which she did without hesitation.   
With the Horde 'fitting in' had not mattered, she had fit in all too well. Her surrounding a direct reflection of her inner world. It weren't her preferred surroundings, aesthetically, but she had not had much choice. She had thrieved again. She did not miss those lands for an instance, bad partings will do that.   
Life without her duties, tasks, missions and deadlines, the frustrations, or the lack of accostumed frustrations, would have eaten her up by now, under different circumstances. Almost dying did wonders for her nerves. At least for as long as she was confined to this circle, she suspected. She had little to do but life without Hordak's jobs, to twist to her own schemes, wasn't empty. A huge part of her life was over. She was near her daughter, her Adora. She held little, yet she held this most valuable piece. There would be a new, proud beginning.  
"You are already dead." The voice echoed. "You will never see Adora again." As predicted, sleep had become more elusive. Through a struggling dreamscape thoughts sounded with surreal clear voices. The lucid dreams did not trouble her, she was used to worse.  
Micah stood before her. The child, not the man, not the child she had known, for there dwelled a cruel wisdom in his eyes. "I am your god." She turned, unimpressed by her dream, he stood before her again. She was not surprised. "I have made you. I will unmake you." She agreed, but only in the dream. She was drowning already in this light. "You are so weak. A dead man can defeat you. You are a rotten teacher." That sentence was the one which haunted her as she woke. No one, no one, not even Nightmare-Micah who did not remotely resemble Micah, could claim she wasn't an exceptionally talented teacher.   
She saw his wife. The one who helped her find demons had found himself an angel, who was to enter the room presently. Slouched against the blue light she tried to catch Angella's smile as she turned from the guards outside the room to her. Could she teach an angel to fall?

"Good morning, Angella."  
"Good morning." Polite and unforced.   
Elusive, this too. This queen, as hollow as the sky.  
Whenever she chanced a greeting, it was always returned. It gave her no satisfaction. It did not make her feel cunning to entice Angella in greetings like this every time she met her. In fact, horribly, keeping this up almost made her feel like a monkey.  
She had more tricks to catch her attention. She tried to get a reaction out of Angella as often as she could. In fact she already had favourite reactions. She studied Angella's mannerism, her more delicate expressions, there were some that she would like to draw from her again. She had to know these things, to make things go her way. Most of the time the queen was silent and withdrawn. Soon Shadow Weaver would have to find a better pastime than getting a rise out of her.  
Shadow Weaver had attempted to ask for little things, reasonable things, when she honestly needed them. To refill her glass. She had gotten that. She had requested being granted tea instead of fruit juice with her breakfast. She thought Angella may show sympathy for this, at last. She fantasized that Bright Moon had quite nice tea. When trying to procure herself a cup Angella hadn't listened and deflected the topic by inquiring about food allergies instead. As if Shadow Weaver would divulge such information to hands that may easily turn against her.   
Shadow Weaver anticipated she would grow bored with Angella rather quickly.   
The queen was uninteresting. Certainly she shone like no other and she was perfect. She was faultless to the point of being unreal. Like the air here. Empty. Lamentably empty.   
Shadow Weaver had expected more follow up questions from the queen. She was going to enjoy refusing them all one by one, but Angella did not ask her any more. Her novelty already run out. Angella seemed to have forgotten all about that endeavour. As if the enigmatic Shadow Wever was but of a fleeting interest. Her curiosity, if there was any, appeased before Shadow Weaver could ever make use of it.   
Certainly, her punctuality was commendable and a quality Shadow Weaver could admire. Angella's timing made her feel secure and certain. Though her skin continued to tingle with discomfort every time she had to change clothes.   
The queen spoke not a word, their routine firmly in place, she would set the bowl, the tray, the everything before her prisoner and leave. Silent offerings to a dead goddess that Angella did not even believe in.  
They had not spoken in days. The only exception had been a futile discussion on socks, instigated by the queen. Angella possessed the vexingly endearing habit of presenting Shadow Weaver her underthings rolled up in her dress. One of the first times when the sorceress found herself confronted by this a faithful replica of her bustholder had, in a daring flight for freedom, almost flown out of the circle beyond her reach. She now went about her unfolding more carefully. One time when she opened her dress there had been socks inside.   
"How did you like the long socks?"   
"You can have them back. I did not ask for socks."  
"Which is why you were permitted to have them. They are designed to resist smooth surfaces. The floor is slippery. We don't want you to get hurt." She looked solemnly down to the floor, to Shadow Weaver's feet, as if there was something forbidden there that she was not supposed to know about.  
"I can make some better suggestions." Angella didn't let her.  
She could see it in Angella's eyes when the queen reached her anything. A list of all Shadow Weaver could or could not do within that circle. A list drawn up by Castaspella and, especially after the hand touch, repeated until Angella knew it by heart. There was no fear in these eyes. There was no care about accidental touching. Angella knew any ruse she may try. Magical and not, with a special focus on parasitic spells as those literally were second nature to her. Angella knew exactly how very constricted her powers were in the circle. She knew that her own Light was so different from the spellmagic of Shadow Weaver and Mystacor that the chances of Shadow Weaver succeeding in harnessing it for herself were very slim. She knew that would not stop the woman from trying.  
The circle could only be broken intentionally. According to any spell Casta could find, certainly as long as their prisoner was confined inside, she could only tap into someone's powers with their consent given in mind and gesture or word. Not by mere touch. Still, Angella thought her a leach and was still just as careful to avoid touch. Shadow Weaver attempted to latch onto her eyes every time she handed her something and Angella would not give her such contact. Shadow Weaver did not like how the queen did not care about how close she came. When she would draw out handing back an item, all it resulted in was a feeling that if she lingered too long Angella would simply leave. She did not expect herself to remain a dedicated student of Angella's moods and behaviours, having already notes all there was to note in their small interactions before but, but of an agreable boredom, she continued. She intentionally took a very long time brushing her hair each day. She also preferred it this way. She took so long that she was certain Angella had often considered leaving for a while to get herself a tea instead of staying seated in her chair. Shadow Weaver reconned in not a week time Angella would start bringing bookscrolls with her to study while Shadow Weaver brushed her hair. This would open up new possibilities too. She watched the queen who was more worried about socks than about the dark forces her prisoner harboured. No, Shadow Weaver did not enjoy being looked at this way. Besides, she would like a hair tie. Her hair kept falling the wrong way. 

\--------  
Let the pining commence...


	15. Chapter 15

Angella's morning began by intercepting Adora from intercepting her on her way to the prison cell. Part of why she never failed to greet the guards was to check if Adora-in-disguise was not among them. She and her guards were used to their hero's frequent ambushes by now. They would try to salvage the tray, if possible, and if it hit the floor, Angella would get a new one while everyone else focused on keeping Adora away from both the kitchen and the guest room. In this she had thankfully enlisted the help of her daughter. She could count on Glimmer's tackle and transportation skills to delay her best friend. She loved her daughter so much. She could not wish for a better teamplayer.   
Once this was succesfully done she schooled her face into a more neutral expression. One that, she had been told, looked ethereal and calm. It really was her political face. Her prisoner was not the only one who could wear a mask. She confronted the Shadow.   
"How much longer will you keep me..... under house arrest?" Her voice dripped with something that was not quite poison, something just as deep and harmfull. Shadow Weaver was eying the cushions out of her reach. Otherwise she sounded content and not at all in a rush to leave. Shadow Weaver had confided in her before that she choose to stay here herself and she liked the service. She wanted to be here. it was overly evident.  
"Prison arrest." Angella objected, not even sounding insulted.  
"Tending to me must take up an awful lot of your time. Has a glorified princess nothing better to do than visiting her lowly prisonee?"   
Her slow and deliberate speech only emphasized her unseen smile.   
"The correct title is queen."  
"My queen..."  
"No."   
She put down the tray, Shadow Weaver was already inspecting it, having fluttered to the side of her cage quite unlike a butterfly, she stuck there like a spider at the edge of its web.   
"My, those tealeaves are proving extremely elusive. How can it be this difficult... Oh, you have left." 

When Angella denied her tea she did not know why she did that. Except that, Shadow Weaver did ask for it. A cup of tea would hardly result in Shadow Weaver having a wander about and take over the queendom, then again anything could result in that. She would reconsider some other time. Queen Angella had decided she liked the challenge of checking in on the evil sorceress. It broke her days away from the tristesse and regret CastaSpella was incessantly accusing her of. Just now she was preparing on watering the plants again and then there was the affair with the towel to deal with or more accurately to ignore until washing time. 

"My pretty jailor, what have you brought with you?"  
It was clearly a plant. A small one with droopy pearly green leaves. Angella put it in its new home, the niche.   
"Did the other one die?"  
"No, it is doing perfectly well. Without being cut."  
"And you are not returning it here because..."  
"It has been exposed to magic. It did not seem wise to return it here. And because I did not wish to deprive you of the company, I brought you a substitute."  
"You use the MoonStone to cure plants?" Her voice heavy with accusation. She envisioned the little thing standing happily under the huge magical stone, taking in its godlike rays. It was ridiculous. One of the complaints Shadow Weaver had of her chamber was that despite the breathtaking view it did not offer the sligthest glimpse at the gigantic luminous concentration of power floating before the castle.  
"That is none of your business."  
Since the dress-day Angella had prefered not to engage in conversation with Shadow Weaver. It felt best not to. It felt restful.  
Angella made her round. Her eyes lingered on Shadow Weaver, she directed her gaze back to the sky or plants whenever she noticed. Shadow Weaver, flat on the floor, had burried her face in her arms and the aforementioned towel. She groaned. She was angry about the plants, envious most likely.   
"What is it?"   
"Your stunning apparation is giving me a headache. Will you leave?"  
"Soon."   
Shadow Weaver gazed up into Angella's eyes. A silent understanding rose between them that this was getting too childish for either of them. She had kept this towel hostage since the last washing sension. She had offered it back to Angella then at a distance that she had hoped would force Angella to venture her hand into the circle. Angella had left the towel there. She had ignored Shadow Weaver that morning when she tried again, now at a reasonable space. Shadow Weaver had kept the towel, to shield the light and support her head for the rest of the day.   
Angella wrapped up on her plant duties. Shadow Weaver scowled at her as she left. The sorceress disliked that days continued to pass without Angella taking a further interest in her memories, her inner machinations, her talents and the many ways to use those to BrightMoon's own benefit. Most of all she disliked the light, it was making her grumpy. Angella would be forced to notice. 

Angella took the towel back that evening, with the other used towels, as if there had been no cause of any friction between them. Washing time always felt the most fragile to Angella. There was no other time that felt as likely to her for Shadow Weaver to attempt something than during those minutes when Angella was standing right outside her door. It made no sense really when Shadow Weaver was in that same room, alone, without Angella even standing guard for most of the time. Yet every time she washed Angella had to nervously contain her paranoia and try not to walk back in to check that she was not up to anything. Angella was about to berate herself for not trusting anyone else for these tasks when Shadow Weaver's call sounded huskily from inside and it was safe to enter again.   
Angella waited as she brushed her hair with the gravitas and effortless patience of a priestess, seated within her sanctum. Angella did not trust her when she was tending to her hair either.   
Shadow Weaver only lowered the brush when she was completely satisfied with her work. She presented the brush as if it were a powerful staff. She twirled it around in her hands again, and again, reluctant to let go. Angella sat on her knees before her. Her forehead creased with concern. "You can give that now."  
"Perhaps..."   
Angella felt her eyes upon her neck, her shoulders, estimating her neck as long and delicate. Easy to snap.   
"Stop plotting. You should get some sleep, you sound tired." Angella said, and stood up to put the brush away.   
Shadow Weaver hadn't been plotting at all, though she understood why Angella may think that.   
The queen hunched before her again, if at a distance, gathering her things. Shadow Weaver continued to watch this pale glistening pink dawn impersonating a queen.   
"Is something troubling you?"  
"The light." This headache, Shadow Weaver despised headaches. They were no real illness, they were no real anything.   
Angella gave her a goodnatured smirk before she walked out.


	16. Chapter 16

"Get some sleep." She was trying! It was an impossible task. This light could drive your very spirit out. It was plausible that the light had already dispersed her into the air. She felt dissolved, dissipated most forcefully. Naturally she had no soul to leave behind. Only this bodily husk lusting for power remained. Trapped. Its original occupant long gone. Her entire existence was a smokescreen. The pool of light pushing her under. Asleep or awake felt the same. She could not tell them apart in this mesh. The location was inescapably the same. The light was too fierce to stay locked out of her subconscious. She had not feared drowning before. Perhaps they had killed her, upon arrival and this imprisonement was... something else... something beyond. Where light and dream, her and Brightmoon became indistiguishable. This was a space where she could either sit comfortably for hours in an unchanging position or could not for a second find the peace required to sit still. There was always something pinching, her long sleeve caught under her body, her dry hair winding itself into disarray as she had to shift, turn, again and again chasing a phantom of sleep. In the back of her mind she was aware that soon, whatever soon meant in a dream, soon felt too long in this current perception of time, soon did not belong to this day, soon belonged outside of this continued slumber, soon she would be brought the means to wash and brush her disobedient, gravity-obedient hair. She dreamt also, or remembered also, of eating here, always crouched down unceremoniously on the floor, sometimes taking her plate up in her lap, sometimes leaving it where it stood, always having to hunch over it. Always having to push her hair back every few bites. Always feeling a hollowness when she touched her skin, to then shield herself again in her mask against the oppressing light. She lay, she refused to lay at its mercy. She just lay. Knowing that she would feel better, that she would use it, she would overtake it.   
The light engulfed her kindly and she would embrace it until white swan wings grew from her, from her deluded, dreamlike state. Strengthening in soft torment.   
She stretched herself. A contented sound fell from her lips. Though the light hit her eyes too sharply.   
Her knees hurt, creaked. She uttered a repressed complaint.   
"Of course your limbs will ache from decades of groveling before your dark lord." answered an inner wisdom, sounding a lot like her warden. Wonderful, she had internalised her already. The light had pressed the queen into her very being. She asked herself how they would needle each other.   
"How petty will we be today?" She smiled. The wings shining above her. A reward in pale gold. Her wings. The wings, they were..." Angella."   
"I don't know. How petty do you feel like being?"  
"Where has your knocking gone?" she spoke softly.   
"I did not want to disturb." spoke her pale apparation, the demure winged lady standing before the shield to pick up her dinner tray.   
Shadow Weaver languishly drew herself up to look on her, first arranging her legs and the fabric just so that her skirts most definitely covered her feet.   
"I have brought you a dessert." An apple rolled to her.   
Shadow Weaver's head peeked up. Angella looked at her, her face as unchanging as Shadow Weaver's mask.   
The sorceress' hands were playing with the apple, it looked more like dancing than playing, how fingers drew over its skin, a magician's trick. She appeared relaxed, almost approachable, for an ultimate dark sorceress.   
"If you are feeling magnanimous and are looking for inspiration," Shadow Weaver whispered, holding her gaze. "I shall give you a long list of 'non-requests' you can fulfill for me. Bring me pen and paper to write it down for you."  
"No."   
"A pencil?"  
"No."  
"A slate and chalk?"   
"Certainly not!" Chalk to draw enchantments. She wasn't even subtle. Worse, she sounded more amused with each request.  
"Charcoal."  
"No."  
"A wax tablet and stylus?"  
"No."  
"Salt?" Angella refrained from rolling her eyes.   
"No."  
"Books?"   
Unanswered.   
"Have the scratches on your ankle healed?"  
The light suddenly held an icy long silence. Shadow Weaver did not move and her stare could not tell Angella anything.   
"Yes." she replied softly. Her face still aimed up undauntingly at the haughty queen. "How fearless you are."   
Angella shook her head, dismissing the remark.  
"No, I am stalling."  
"Stalling to what?" Angella idly picked up the napkin that was folded over a heap of carrots on Shadow Weaver's discarded plate.   
Shadow Weaver leisurely watched the queen walk the room. She was carrying the tray she had come to collect. She knew the queen loved the light, even if she tried not to let it show too much in front of Shadow Weaver. She was walking to the tallest window where the light was so strong it rendered her wings invisible and her serious expression vanished from her face. Her slim form reminded Shadow Weaver of nothing as much as the tall and slender athlethic girls she used to date at Mystacor. 'Date' was not the right word. But that was besides the point. Here and Mystacor were so similar they could be the same.  
Angella's kind eyes skimmed the room. She was looking for something. She absentmindedly selected one of the nibbled on coloured stalks. Shadow Weaver had given each colour a try before leaving them all alone. Every colour was carrot. Angella bit where her bite ended. Shadow Weaver's eyes went wide. She felt her face pale.   
"What is going on?" she inquired.  
Angella's attention was elsewhere. She directed her attention back to her unnegotiable prisoner.   
"Can you stand up?"   
Shadow Weaver could not think of any sensible reaction. She obeyed, delayed, if just to take a closer look at what was happening.   
Angella was looking from her to a chair, her to a table, to a footstool.   
"Can you not eat my food?"  
"Can you be less snarky?" Angella continued her vague estimating. "You didn't want the carrots. Are they poisoned? No. Is there dark magic sticking to everything you touch? No. I know it is safe. Maybe not next time, maybe you will try bespelling your food every time now just in case but I won't do it again." She knew precedents were dangerous. "It is not like I am asking you to throw an apple between us and eat it together. "  
Why would the queen even be thinking of sharing food with her? This was bemusing. "Are you doing this to show me you are not afraid of me?"  
"Maybe. Maybe I am peckish." She turned as to leave. Shadow Weaver had been bored before, now she wanted her and this bizarre conversation to stay. Angella was watching the skies again. "I don't understand how you could have lived at a place as beautiful as Mystacor and not have loved it there." Finally the queen was inquiring after her, she did not sound interested.   
"Yes, it is outragious." The sarcasm was dripping.  
Angella silently continued eating her claimed carrots, cutting herself off from Shadow Weaver and the room entirely as had she been flying.  
"You would have liked me." Shadow Weaver whispered to Angella's back. "Ambitious young women usually do." Her girlfriends at Mystacor had always wanted something from her, sensed something in her that they could not explain. They had longed for Light Spinner to give them the power that she kept for herself. A power that was not theirs. Never could be. They gave up on finding their own power, wanting only her. And so she had ended up taking from them all they were willing to give.  
"I wouldn't count on it." Angella sighed. "You pressume too much, Shadow Weaver. " She blinked a few times, turned back to face her guest. "I didn't have you down as being nostalgic."   
In Angella Shadow Weaver could see the ghosts of lovers past and never happened, shimmering.  
"Show me your legs."   
"No."   
Angella did not near her. Her eyebrows etching the seriousness back into her face. Shadow Weaver gave her another long look, her meaning obscured by the mask.   
"I can't sleep."  
"I know." Angella said, her eyes more often on the furniture than on her.   
Angella walked back to a stool she had been repeatedly observing.   
"I have to find you a better place to rest." She was clearly reluctant about her task. It wasn't her idea, but it was in the interest of basic decency. She could not refuse this much longer without feeling bad about it. A bed, a couch, a sleeping mat, she would have to find something that fit completely inside the enchantment circle. "You can have this, for now." She finally settled on a single cushion, taking it up, clumsily while still holding the tray. She put the tray down. It was not the smallest cushion in the room, to Shadow Weaver's surprise, and it looked soft. Angella had been needlessly comparing every cushion present to finally decide this was the one to try on Shadow Weaver. The smallest was about ten to ten centimeter, the largest was a bean bag. "I placed a blanket on the boudoir. Have the guards call me if you should have need of it."   
She was still several steps away from the circle when she threw the cushion at Shadow Weaver, it went through the air in a small hopp, landing neatly in her arms.   
Shadow Weaver wasted no time, she dove back to the floor, strangling the cushion into submission. It was not quite large enough to rest her head on but she would make the most of it. She angled it as a sunscreen and turned her back on Angella to rest.  
"I could kiss you." Shadow Weaver proclaimed scathingly. It sounded very much like 'kill' would be a better fit in the sentence.   
Angella looked at her for a while, uncertain. Her thin lips thinned further in concern.   
"Goodbye." she said softly, closing the door behind her.


	17. Chapter 17

note: I don't know the travel distance between Brightmoon and Mystacor. How far was it again in the show? How long did it take? How did they get there? Can you help me? I am going to assume it can be done in a day or less -depending on the magical effort you wish to put into it-. 

CastaSpella chanced upon Angella in the conference room. Her papers took up most of the table. It was one of those days when her private study was not adequate. Her desk there was covered in draft schedules, old journals and freshly delivered Mystacor files. This far larger table was a lot more organised. Currently in development battle-plans to the left, flanked by a substantive pile of pressing matters of internal affairs and a history volume for relaxation. The queen liked to provide herself with the illusion that she would get to that in between her other work.  
Before her, sat today's report on Shadow Weavers prolonged stay. She could not hurry herself in these things. She wished she could because she had promised Glimmer to 'hang out' together the next day for their weekly afternoon of monther-daughter activities that Glimmer usually picked out. There was so much left to do before then. She could not skim over details. Providing all necessary details was what she was good at. She prefered to include everything in her notes.   
CastaSpella watched her make some extra markings on the page directly in front of her. She was immensily grateful to see Angella's eternally sad eyes brighten during an uneventful week. The queen had this new situation under control and CastaSpella could see the strange diversion of tending to Shadow Weaver did her well. Angella was dedicated to her task. She was studious in her notes. CastaSpella liked how she strove to provide her with accurate reports. Neither of them was optimistic about the situation but at least CastaSpella could honestly say she had faith in their project.   
"Is that... the prisoner's meal?" Angella glanced at the half empty plate to her right.   
"Ah yes, I will let the kitchen change her meals to avoid a waste of carrots. She did not eat much today, if this continues we will have to find some solution, but my guess is her lack of appetite today stemmed from the carrots so there is nothing to worry about." She underlines a few words, looked back up. "I gave her a cushion as you wanted me to."  
"You have everything settled then."  
"Almost. Would you care to read today's report with me? These are for Mystacor as well as BrightMoon afterall."  
"Yes...about that... it is time for me to return to my functions. I have made the occasional trip back and forth for meetings so far.. and with the Great Month of Ceremonies coming up...I will have to be there longer than a few days."  
"But the prisoner... the danger..."  
"You are handling everything splendidly."  
"I still have to find her a sleeping place."  
"Yes, you will. Try to keep me informed." CastaSpella did not get her hopes up. She expected to return from a complete Angella letter free visit to a collection of reports waiting for her neatly on the table in the room always held free for her. "You can stop fretting over details."  
The capable queen sorted the pages of her thorough report. CastaSpella took them from her.  
"The guards heard you arguing about plants."  
"Yes, I fear that is going to happen more than once. I try not to talk with her."  
"Of course." CastaSpella read on. "You are being very hard on yourself."   
"How so?"  
CastaSpella quoted from the page. " 'Should not have started a conversation. Should not have stalled.' You succeeded in getting done what you were there for, that is what matters."  
"There is one more thing I will change. I would feel safer to not always sit down when I give her items. She seems to enjoy ... it feels too intimate. I will sometimes directly hand her things, but only when I deem it best."   
"Good." Casta said as she continued reading. "You ... ate her leftovers?"  
"I didn't think she would care. She was displeased about it."  
"I bet!" Casta laughed. "You know, if it were me... I wouldn't be able to resist riling her up."  
"It was a mistake."  
"It is glorious! I love it. I wish I could have seen it. What a statement."  
A faint smile came to Angella's lips. "It is not very proper."  
"I agree, definitely not something up for repeat, you don't really want to rattle her cage, but it was harmless. Just you proving yourself, gaining some confidence. Angie, you startled her."  
"Micah would know what to do. He would know how to keep her subdued... I don't want to subdue anyone. He knows her magic."  
"Micah has a history with her, he is conflicted about her, he is the smartest person I have ever known, but I don't believe he would be the right person to do this. He would be no better than you in this situation, on the contrary. It would have been similar to letting Adora in charge and you don't want that, do you?"  
"I never know. One day I will think we are doing well, the next I start doubting if we are treating her right. I can't tell if she is comfortable, uncomfortable, too comfortable. I feel like I am forgetting something. I am doing the best I can."  
"You keep swinging between those because you don't want her here. Tell yourself she has everything she needs. She does.   
I mean, of course she feels at home and wellcared for, and that is going to annoy you. She is set upon controlling people. She will feel safe here. She is limited to one space, to one on one conversations, that must be paradise for her.   
She is a controlfreak and you put her in a room just short of a throne, to conduct her private audiences. It will make her feel nice and special. Of course it amuses her to be catered to. We are giving her a vacation with free service. She can feel all proud of herself and how mighty talented she is."  
Angella slowly released her breath. She tutored Micah. When I see her hands, I see his movements, his spells, his kindness.  
"I can't care if she lives, weakens or dies. I will continue to treat her fairly while you are gone. I must not forget who she is. She made a profession out of harming people. I am pretty certain she used the same dark magic for settling personal matters. I am not going to indulge her. She raised Adora. Which means I will have to be extra careful to keep them apart. Not only is she cunning, she would be cruelest to Adora. I will put more guards with Adora. She must be protected."  
Angella was not scared of her, the woman in the guestroom. She was scared of what misfortune her breakout would cause everyone she loved.   
She held her head high as was natural to her. She could certainly do this.   
Shadow Weaver's magic is bound. What could she possibly take advantage of?  
"She could play dead." If I would close the curtains to let her sleep, I would lose. She could play dead and my concern would get me killed. Or I could stupidly trip over her if it were darker.  
"I suppose."  
"An additional reason for not closing the curtains at night."  
"What?"  
"It would be harder to see if she were acting. Walk over to her, check her pulse." Or misjudge her as harmeless and automatically wish her 'sweet deams' as when I put Glimmer to sleep. Maybe walk over to pet her hair. A good night wish, another foolery that could not hurt Shadow Weaver, not anyone, yet certainly an act not to commit.  
She said none of these halfformed thoughts.  
"Angella... I have to ask, there is something that stands out, in your reports, some of the things she says to you..."  
"Yes?"  
Angella looked at the lines Casta pointed to.  
"No, that was a figure of speech. She is bored, bitter and sleep deprived. She was taunting me as usual. You would know if you were there. She mocks all I love, all that reminds me of Micah." The unnecessary elegance to her movements, that is necessary in spellcasting, was a brusque mockery. No, Angella corrected herself, it is her nature to move like this. The circle drawing is so perfectly entwined with who she is. SpellaCasta doesn't have that, not to that degree. Shadow Weaver does not only use magic, she is magic. Micah had that grace too. The same techniques as she who taught him.  
"A skilled manipulator as her, if she wanted to seduce me she would be go about it so expertly it would not be as noticable as these remarks. I imagine her seductions are an irresistably smooth path to perdition. This is mere rudeness." Angella looked up at CastaSpella. "She keeps drawing enchantments on the floor, when I am present. Oh, they don't do anything. I think she just keeps her hands occupied that way."  
"If you are concerned I can check the circle before I leave. If she is pulling it out of line in any way. It is what Micah would do."  
"Yes, please. But you can't go near her."  
"We can go together. "


	18. Blanket

My apologies for that heinous holiday-caused delay.  
Welcome back! Let's raise the stakes and sink our teeth into the future! 

Next up, Shadow Weaver experiences a Feeling and thinks ... must be demons. As, logically, anyone would.

I wish to thank you all again for your reviews, bookmarks and kudos! :3 They are so uplifting. You are amazing.  
We are almost at what I consider the 'start' of the story. *celebration!*  
It is weird how when typing this up some parts get added, grow longer than they were before or even move forward. I expected to be further into the -oh let's admit it- heat of the story by now. But I am enjoying this and I hope you are too.  
You can add "Temple of Love" to the drama play list. :-)  
Here we go with a fluffy little piece:  
\--------------------------

Something had entered her inside this circle. She could taste it. No evil spirits could reach through this barrier and find her. Her prison was infuriatingly impeccably drawn. This demonicaly formed fermentation feasting on her had to come from within.  
She played host to so many flavours of darkness she could not tell with certainty which one was acting up.  
It was night and she felt it grow stronger at night. It was not completely unpleasant, it yearned, made her yearn, which was something she could do without at the moment.  
She considered asking for a healer. That request would undoubtedly be denied and her complaint disbelieved by Angella. Shadow Weaver asked herself, how can you be sick? Adora healed you. The problem at hand had to be of a spellcasting nature, maybe her discomforts even qualified as a magical maladie, not something the queen would have been schooled to understand. CastaSpella was her best bet. The circle had been made by her, any flaw in it was hers. If she was still around, if there was a way to request her. And then what?  
It was not beneath her to perform being ill to achieve her goals, there was no shame to this modus operandi, but she did not want to. She was not inclined to pretend when they had already seen her in pain, she did not want to experience that degredation again. It would be unoriginal, desperate, to do this and she would have to put up such a perfect ruse that it would be certain to annoy her even as she set it up. Besides she could easily dismiss the idea for being too simple. She only wanted an easy escape if one happened to present itself. There was no pride to a trick a child would and could pull off. She would escape because inevitably someone, regrettably not Angella, would set her free. Once released, what would become of Angella?  
Angella possessed this deceiving kind of beauty, Shadow Weaver had cautioned herself against it. She had a beauty that increased the longer you knew her, the more frequently you saw her. It amplified itself until you could not help but notice how her violently growing loveliness struck you each time one, you, saw her. She was growing attached, as Angella must fear she might, like ivy to a sturdy wall. Shadow Weaver liked to entrance. She never could fight becoming too involved and intwined with her obsessions. Slowly, slowly she reminded herself, she was the ivy taking the house with her, she was the mistletoe bringing down the tree she sapped on. Angella surely could not withstand her power and yet... she was at the mercy of this near incorruptible being. Whatever chance of escape was coming her way to be exploited, it would arrive before she had the time to fully reach into Angella. She had the patience to see this flower blossom, she had the skill, she hoped she would have the time. There was so much she still wanted to see from her, so many emotions, so many ways in which Angella had made herself. She could observe all there was to her at liberty here. Angella did not even need change, Shadow Weaver pondered that she barely even wished to corrupt her, there must be so much to explore already. Angella was so closed-off there had to be icy lakes of interesting substances underneath. And if she could meanwhile help Angella find the strength of darker forces that she needed in her war but was too afraid to seek out herself... Or she had set her sights too high. Appealing to the Gentle Queen of All Goodness was overly ambitious even for her, especially for her.  
"Shadow Weaver." Her eyes snapped open, calmth returned. The woman was gazing down on her. The sorceress pleasantly stretched a smile Angella could not see. It was her guardian angel, she sneered to herself, her one obstacle or way to freedom, depending on how she chose to look on it. She had mellowed there, for she did not itch to throw her out of her way.  
"Did I wake you?" Shadow Weaver asked, already gloating.  
"No. I was still up."  
"Pity."  
Shadow Weaver had summened her from the bowles of her castle. Not that this was the sort of castle to have bowles. It felt good to have some kind of power, even something as little as this.  
"It is not that late."  
"It is hard to tell with this... light." Shadow Weaver proclaimed deeply lazily. She freed her hand from under her head and pillow to make a vague throw-away gesture. Abandoning her back-to-floor sleeping position, she turned onto her stomach, nestling her face on her arm, looking sideways at Angella. The queen stood tall as always. She was carrying a book.  
"You work late." Shadow Weaver looked more closely. "Is it me or are those leggings a shade darker than usual?"  
Small talk? "No, it is you."  
"Am I to understand you have given up on your nonsensical, infantile knocking forever? Just as well to leave it behind whenever you waltz in here, it was disruptive and as I have been given nothing to do but look at you..."  
Angella's eyes narrowed causiously, she held her book close. She was too tired to point out how grave a bluff Shadow Weaver was calling. To believe that a cease of knocking would not lead to more arguments about the witch's sensiblities, her appearance, her body, that such an irregularity and the unwanted exposure it might entail would not upset Shadow Weaver when it so clearly already did, perhaps she was leading her into exactly such a discussion, but Angella did not care as Shadow Weaver's voice droned on in a threatening tone: "You can't throw me off with surprise visits. Do you think I don't recognise the fall of your feet, the soft dull beat of your wings yet, the tone of your voice when you speak to your guards?"  
"You asked for the blanket. Let me just take that." She opened the boudoir. "I figured you would request this at some inconvenient time in the near future, this is sooner than expected." Sooner than Shadow Weaver had expected to attempt this too. The very same night of the day it had been offered. Shadow Weaver must be desperate to gain the upperhand in this game they were definitely not playing.  
"I try not to deny myself too much. After witnessing you struggle to provide me with a mere cushion, how could I not make immediate use of this."  
Angella walked over to her.  
"I had another copy of your dress made, I will present it to you tomorrow."  
She lay the folded blanket gracefully in the circle before the prisoner. Shadow Weaver took it, shook it open. Queen Angella retreated.  
There was this other aspect to Angella that could prove difficult. You find yourself noticing how well her ever-glowing-growing bright beauty compliments her other treats. Her resolve, intelligence, care, stubborness. Her beauty stems even more from those qualities than from her aluring physical features. Shadow Weaver shuddered. Her beauty should become more and annoying as time goes by. It ought to be like that. Usually people started to irritate Shadow Weaver quite quickly, even those she chose to take under her metaphorical wing and was being extra charming to. She was as yet not annoyed by Angella, the person, when seeing her every day. It was a small miracle.  
Shadow Weaver folded the blanket over her lap, not certain what to do with it. She looked out to the sky. The thought of escape came with a general sense of hopelessness, she did not understand, she had every confidence in her escape.  
A small cough.  
Shadow Weaver turned her face to where Angella sat upon a cushioned stool, on her legs rested an open book. She was reading. She did not look up to her. Shadow Weaver was bemused not to be the most relevant object in the room and somehow she was very much at peace with this, to just sit here, silently. She listened to the souls and energies in the air. She could imagine the queen being here for the quiet too, to catch one moment in the day to herself, and her book on the history of the amazon-mares of old. She did not let Shadow Weaver's poisonous company impede her reading. Her persistence was commendable. Shadow Weaver remained silent because of it. The queen acted so well, Shadow Weaver could hardly detect Angella's detest of her on her face as she read. Shadow Weaver was too appreciative of the company to object to her presence. And so Angella watched Shadow Weaver curl up to sleep. The enchantress glanced once more at her. This gave Angella a sense of hope that did not sit right with her.  
The queen let her mind come to rest. She took a few audibly deep breaths. Her prisoner had closed her eyes again. At least she had gotten to read afterall before bed.  
When Angella rose from her seat, Shadow Weaver too came to her feet to face the queen again and her relentless innocence. Don't think she is innocent, no creature in the universe and certainly no queen is innocent and no woman could care less about innocence than Shadow Weaver did. Why then had she thought of this strange word?  
"Wait." She held out the blanket. "I don't need it anymore." Angella took the folded blanket from her hands without even blinking. Shadow Weaver kept her breath from screeching.  
"Why don't you hang onto that for the night?"  
Shadow Weaver tilted her head in disapproval. Angella was all too well aware the sorceress had devised this humble plan of giving the blanket back only to summon her again later that night, just to see if she could.  
"How about you stop exerting your newfound blanket powers? Wrap yourself up warmly until morning and I'll collect it then." Angella folded the blanket open once more.  
A cold shrill current ran right beneath Shadow Weaver's skin.  
Shadow Weaver turned on her heels. She was cross. She had some dignity to uphold to herself. She did not sulk.  
Cloth fell over her shoulders, was draped over her hair of demons, partly covering it.  
She could not feel the queen's touch, it must have been a calculated careful approach.  
She looked but Angella had gone and the door was closed. She sat back down, keeping the blanket around her, she peered into the horrible light and lay down to rest. Her arm lodged firmly between her legs. A blanket wasn't shadows but it would do for an embrace.

\-----  
Disarmed by a blanket, what a way to fall. All points go to Angella.  
When I say amazon-mares I 100 percent mean horses who are warriors.


	19. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teeny part today before the crucial events.

She rose early, as she used to in Mystacor. She had upheld this habit in the Frightzone, but it had not given her the same satisfaction there. The red gloom of a Frightzone morning felt very different, promising too in its own way she had to admit. She looked out over the rising lights of the moons and remembered Mystacor mornings, pale like this one, slightly cold and quiet still.  
The creaking of first magic cast between her fingers.  
She could ignite no more than a spark here, too small for a spell to take hold. Her magic remained confined to her circle and what use could there be to casting more light into this place?  
She recollected the feeling, the power to her previous life. At Mystacor her days had been well-structured. It was a safe haven. It had been the most in control she had ever felt of her own life. Before her aspirations inevitably hit the borders to Mystacor's hospitality. Yet nothing had compared since to rising a few hours early before teaching, to test her magic and make her way to class, often carrying a book or scroll with her through the lofty halls.  
She groaned, she'd kill for a book.  
She placed her back against the barrier, leaned into it until it hurt. She faced the light, could still see it as she closed her eyes. Her thoughts and fingers traced the circle for weaknesses. Her spirit walked those familiar lines as once she walked those corridors in veils of silver morning light. She was reduced to a spectre herself.  
As once, she studied, as once, she taught, as once, an excited student would run up to her already babbling head-deep into the course material, as once, an infatuated classmate of hers would approach, when she was not yet a teacher, deliriously, a girl so simple and sensitive she prized Shadow Weaver's morning kisses above the greatest treasures Etheria could provide. An eternity ago. Light Spinner, she corrected herself.  
She had spun many hearts, she had not spun them as well as her magic. In those ancient times she had looked forward to teaching children to be rid of her peers fighting over her in ever more vicious ways. She had been avoiding these girls by always proving herself in greater magical feats and bolder rescue missions against the Horde. It would seem running to the Horde had been her nightmarish escape even then.  
Her lovers -some of them had preferred the term sweethearts, she never had -and admirers had of course not been quite as kind as Angella or as uninterested in her. Or perhaps they had been and her presence had merely brought out the worst in them.  
Most had been a few years younger than her, apparently she was good crush-material.  
They had been easy to influence. Without her even meaning to, the fools.  
Their actions had made Light Spinner very aware of the power she held and out of necessity she learned, though it came very natural, how to refine this charm of hers. How to place a sweet sentence, a convincing cheek caress, how to hold her face to theirs, not too strongly, just enough to seize an opportunity.  
She had seen more cruelties among those students than in her decades of making a career within the Horde. In a way she was grateful for that harsh preparation.  
She wondered if she would kiss again.  
She had failed to bring such musings to mind when she was supposed to die, under a chorus of insults. She was thinking of it now, idly, as she did every few years.  
She reflected on the time since kissing and on the time yet to come before the next, if there was to be a next, the never again option was always on the table, not that it even mattered. There is a distinct dryness that time without love brings to the mouth and soul. Even when you are not aware of thinking of how long it has been, you can feel always feel it.  
Several hours passed her by. She heard a soft pastel flame enter the room, she hoped the queen would take the effort to properly greet her to this morning. An early visit from the lovestruck young woman who wanted her kisses.  
The thought almost made her laugh at herself. What humour comes with age. 

\---------------------------

Turns out Light Spinner was a seductress, or at least a self-aware femme fatale. Is there anyone surprised? Can we really blame her?  
Wait until we get to heartbreaker Angella. ˆˆ

The thing about Mystacor and Brightmoon is... in my notebook version of this tale I had forgotten they were different places. I'd pulled them together into one. So now I have to untangle them to have Shadow Weaver confuse them all over again.


	20. Chapter 20

She sat so still in her circle, Angella first held her for a mirage. Every colour and object in the room was drained by the fierce moonlight, except her who was made clear by it. When in fact the white light everywhere was real and she only an illusion. Shadow Weaver's eyes were closed. Her hands moved for a moment, her fingertips tasting the edges to her confinement. Her hands traced a circlar shape of their own back to the heart, the flesh of the enchantment that she was held in. Angella hoped a wellmade spell felt comfortable to reside in, solid. She hoped the sorceress had not already found a weak spot she was currenly eroding. If I have her sleep on the floor much longer it will grow more comfortable to her than a bed. No, that was most unlikely. Softness will not become more cumbersome to her, she probably craves it more than ever. She had to find her a chair or something soon. For a moment, one more moment, she hoped Shadow Weaver was having fun, in a way, she hoped she would continue her medative drawing. She hoped the dark enchantress would not ask her, hurtfully, if Angella was jealous of her magic. She was not. It was only that these enchantments reminded her so of Micah and their moments together. If she could but observe a while longer. It may look pretty, she interrupted herself, in the misty morning light but this is the picture of a criminal trying to escape her spare room... prison.  
Nothing to romanticize. Shadow Weaver folded her hands silently in her lap. She waited for the queen to approach.  
Angella stirred herself to action. She was nervous. Why even? She was not afraid. Should she be? Would it help? No.  
Angella could not be attacked, but she could be seen. She could not observe without being known herself. She had known this cost. She had chosen this. She could not let herself be distracted just because she had a corporeal form.  
"Did you manage to sleep?" Her voice clear as day.

The taste of Shadow Weaver's mouth turned to ash.  
"Yes."  
She diverted her gaze away from the window to the queen. Angella paled the dawn next to her.  
She was a ruler of peace and authority. She outshone light itself. The woman was everything she once wanted to be herself. Who Light Spinner could have been? One day. All days. A beacon for people to look up to, to guide them, a role she still desperately desired.  
And she was here to give her breakfast. Ludicrous. 

Angella sat down beside the circle, her wings resting over the floor. She placed the tray down on the wrong side of her where Shadow Weaver could not reach. They watched sky.  
"Is this to be like last night?" Shadow Weaver asked, her voice the warmest whisper.  
Her lingering thoughts of kissing safely guarded by her mask. No, at some point you had to admit there would be no more kisses. It may be sad, but that was all. She may make a melancholy impression on the queen this morning. A whistful, lazy impression. This would sooner be connected to her plotting more malevolent plans. She supposed kisses could be considered malevolent, if the desire came from her. The queen must know what it feels like, to miss something you will never have again. She was a widow. She would understand.  
Shadow Weaver couldn't possibly tell her she was one to worry about such trivial things. She watched Angella. As an experiment, imagine what she would kiss like. She is coloured like the weather. You might as well kiss the sky or moon. It would be just as empty and shining. The droplets of jewellery on her are the rain and the stars reside in her hair.  
She saw Angella flex her fingers, nervous to confront the one without magic who could not even reach of her own accord.  
She had become so used to her company in this short time. She hoped they could talk for an hour or so, about books, about that blasted sky, daily concerns, comfort and discomforts. Angella was her ally in making herself comfortable afterall. The way Angella talked to her, honest, direct, it felt like having a friend. This was not Angella's intention certainly. And Shadow Weaver did not quickly feel like that about someone, but it was a mistake she could live with. Even if the powerdynamics of prisoner and queen spoke very clearly not in her favour.  
Angella looked at her.  
Shadow Weaver calmly, trustingly spoke: "You will not let me read?"  
"Hm?"  
"Or write or draw?"  
Angella's arms were resting over her knees, she was basking in the light, a bit relaxed. Good.  
"No."  
"I wish to read something."  
"What would you like to read, that aren't spell books? "  
"I feel like ... something soft. Harmless, to your eyes." The silence of refusal already coated the air. "Poetry."  
"That is too close to spells."  
"Can you read it to me?"  
"You can't expect.."  
"Just.. answer the question. Would that be a way to follow your rules? Wouldn't you want to read or sketch or have some contact when cooped up in here?"  
"And what would you like to hear?"  
"Anything you are reading will do." That certainly sounded like a way to gain access to the queen's mind and private thoughts. "The complete works of Sappho." she admitted, unabashed.  
Angella was quiet for a while, almost in sympathy.  
Shadow Weaver wanted her kindness, this kindness she had thought she would never show her. She could invoke it so well in others, if fate only would let her have this from Angella.  
"No." she answered slowly. "Not a chance."

Angella drew the tray to herself, around her, slid it into the circle. She leaned to her.  
"To spare those knees of yours." she muttered.  
"You prefer me on my knees, don't you? On the floor." Shadow Weaver whispered back from where she sat, her head down, she was pulling her own hair obscuring her mask.  
She would not move to illustrate her point. Though she would love to see Angella blush, if that were possible.  
She would draw it out of her somehow. Best to reverse the roles. Talk as if she were the queen, Angella the prisoner. You would be amazed how often this works to better a situation. There was certainly something she fancied asking her.  
"Eat your breakfast." The queen said, already on her feet and walking away.  
Shadow Weaver sighed softly. "Angella," Shadow Weaver called her back. "will you show me your legs?"  
Angella's hand rose to her face, clearly annoyed. She turned around again, she had decided it was necessary to speak up, she could not let this slide. "You are in no position to...!"  
"My position is what I make of it."  
"Don't."  
"What?"  
"Whatever you are hoping of turning this into."  
Shadow Weaver looked down, puzzled. The door shut. At least she had tried.

\--------  
Oh no, I am only half-way in the chapter and I have to stop.  
Note to self: do not try to type up story parts while Eartha Kitt music videos are playing. You wil end up watching those videos all night. Remember that.

Yes, in She-ra world every little bit of Sappho's writing has survived. It would.  
Hers is of course the famous quote "sweet mother I cannot weave for slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing for a girl" which this work's title was based on, which I am sure you all already knew. This is not exactly a subtle story.

The book club option sadly failed, for now.  
Next option, striptease.

Angella, queen of the facepalm, it's okay. You have a corporeal form. She has a corporeal form and you like her. Your hands-fixation is surely not indicative of any deeper wish. :p I love writing Angella being unaware of her mind being in the gutter.


	21. Chapter 21

Shadow Weaver leaned back against the shield.   
Sure, seduce the queen. That is not an unrealistic plan at all.   
She took her mask off. She felt about as seductive here as when she first arrived at Hordak's dwellings. That was a lie.   
But what if she could, if she could make that extra effort and make her fall for her, in love with her?   
It was not as though she had given up on enticing people. Nor had she grown completely dependant on her shadows for doing so. It was not that difficult.  
She thought she had already let that plan go.  
Angella was waiting in the corridor, she could hear her, could not make out what she said. She wondered if she had made her cry, if it were that easy.  
She ate and carefully mulled her thoughts over.   
Her dance of the seven veils was hardly going to work if she kept ripping patches off through all layers. It was her own tongue's fault. She never could resist a quick snip, some prickly lashes. Insulting Angella did not come as easily to her as she would like. She liked every strike she could make. Even so, she felt she kept squandering the chances given to her. She was tired and crabby and instead of this pushing her to her best work yet, she blurted out stupid remarks. Not that she regretted it, she was finding too much pleasure in it for regret.  
She was not succeeding in being mysterious. She could not use honey on the queen. It would never stick and because she knew it would not work on her, she could not bring herself to try it. She would so like to take her in with sweet words.   
She never did figure out what registers to use when talking with the queen. Distant or familiar, lofty or plain, caring or antagonistic, kind or biting. To her feeling, she kept switching back and forth. It was foolish. Such things usually came naturally to her.   
The empathic look she thought she had drawn from Angella was only the personal combination of her kindness with her gracious disdain deceiving her.  
She had misjudged Angella's interest. She shoved the tray away.  
She was not going to establish a bond with her this way.   
The queen was already threatening her, trying to force her into socks to not have to accidentally see her skin. All the more immediate reason to hate the queen. She did not. She did not really want to hear the "nice" excuses Angella would bestow on her if she inquired after the queen's motivations for such offers. If they did grow closer, Angella would entrust her with phrases of general niceness, there would be such sanctimonious concern for her, oh no, oh yes, we asked this of you to safeguard your own sensibilities. This is about you, not us. You decide who sees your body. It is your decision. We respect you.   
They did not.  
The interest that had been shown in her, past her veil, into her past, her comfort, it had all been of a justified, practical nature. Angella would hold fast to that. She would reason any genuine concern away. Shadow Weaver would hate to hear Angella's interest was not hers.   
She did not want to ask.   
It was nauseating.   
When Angella ventured back into the room, Shadow Weaver was lying on her back. Her food tray negligently pushed outside of the circle. Angella heard the mask click into place. Shadow Weaver's face turned to her. She looked entirely too much at ease for Angella's liking, sprawled out like that, indeed she had been right to call Casta for her aid and opininon. The sorceress was up to something. Angella would not let it unsettle her. Shadow Weaver lay in the heart of her circle, looking as though any additional comfort would only get in her way.  
Angella walked over to her, her eyes skipped to the tray and back to her own hands, she was not going to take it up yet. She paced along the circle.   
Her prisoner was trailing patterns on the floor. This alerted queen to magic, it wasn't idle tracing, she seemed to be testing how far her hand could go in her cage as if she hadn't known yet.  
It was too easy to be distracted by her hands, by little gentle touches and not see them for the claw things they truly were. She was only doing this to keep herself busy, Angella told herself. The queen couldn't tell her to stop, but she could stop looking. It was too pretty, too good, too soothing, her tracing dictated an atmosphere, a rythm to the conversation at hand. She was trying to put her to her hand, her weaving was like her voice, there was magic there even when there was no magic there. The queen wished to excuse herself and leave Shadow Weaver to her daydreams. She could not.   
Shadow Weaver dragged a nail over the floor for emphasis. She looked, she had lost the queen's attention. Angella was no longer watching her.   
She had lost track of her spell drawing herself. She kept losing words, thoughts, threats when conversing with the queen. Her eloquence was the greatest tool available to her here. She could not afford to lose it.  
"Mmmmmm" a languid tone to reel the queen back in. "Are you staying here all day? What am I supposed to do with that?" She lifted her head, straining her neck, it looked like a lot of effort but it was important to her to be dramatic. "Am I to stick around for your entertainment?" Angella did not answer. Shadow Weaver looked down again, retook to her tracing shapes next to her.   
Those damned hands.  
"What is it you would like me to do?"  
The way her hand moved, rested, smoothly stroked, it was as if to say 'anything Micah can do... I can do better.'  
"I who don't even deserve a chair or a soft place to sleep? Afterall, I may use my cushion to escape."  
Angella tried not to follow her hands with her eyes. Perhaps it would be better to watch her hands and not that useless mask for expressions and emotion. She was such a curious sight displayed before her.  
Shadow Weaver had no choice but to trust Angella. That was the truth. She had to trust her not to look. Not to try to when she slept. Not to touch her. Angella was not perfect. She did look, touch, Shadow Weaver even gave her opportunities to. She had been asking her to. It hadn't been lies.  
Two fingers halted in their track. She turned her hand, certain of Angella's gaze. She presented Angella with the palm of her hand, she caressed the fabric as though she would peel it away for her, starting at the fingers. To show her her hand again.  
She wanted her to see. She wanted her to touch.  
She wanted her.  
She closed her hand.  
No, she could not hold Angella's interest.

"I did not hate Mystacor."   
Angella did not even look at her.   
"Then perhaps you should not have changed."  
She watched the queen walk up to her head again.  
She wished they coud do this more often. Talk like this, lie down and see Angella watch her, drawing circles with her hand, unfinished, the shapes her hands pursued faded and fled from her as she was drawing them and she did not mind of a sudden, it was perfect. This was awfully pleasant.   
"I did not change as much as people like to believe." Shadow Weaver smiled.  
"I never assumed you did."  
The queen's hair a glittering halo.  
She had not seen Angella's face like this before, with this exact light on her, this exact expression on her face. It was too pretty. Too pretty was impossible.   
"Some would have called me an angel."  
She was vaguely aware that Angella's shadow must lay upon her.   
"I doubt that."  
"You did not know me then. You don't get a vote."  
She still wanted to wriggle a small repressed smile from Angella.  
"What makes you think I did not know you?" She heard the smile appear.

Shadow Weaver looked up, disconnected from all the world.   
Words perished in her throat, evaporated completely from her mouth.  
Suddenly she knew. As though a shrill call sounded in her head.  
On the floor gazing straight up at the queen in light.   
Shadow Weaver averted her gaze and the queen noticed.  
She wishes she hadn't seen it, she kept her face turned away from her.  
She knew why the spell shapes plagued her and she could not recall how to perform the spell as long as the queen's gaze was upon her.   
This had not troubled her before.  
Her mind had known it, part of her had known as soon as she arrived. The terrible predicament she was in.   
"What is it?"   
Shadow Weaver's ears drooped flatly back, hopeless. She sprang up to sit before the queen.   
A request rose to Shadow Weaver's lips. "Angella, there is a spell I have to perform. It is a problem only a sorceress would understand. You have to let me go. You have to send for..."  
But Angella was no longer listening. She had turned her attention to the door. Castaspella had arrived.  
"You finally made it, I was worried you wouldn't come."   
"I thought I would meet you at your chambers and we would go here together."   
Angella shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You are here now. But I am already terribly late for my afternoon with Glimmer."   
"You should go."  
"I can't leave you alone with..." Shadow Weaver was fuming where she sat.  
"These tests will take hours to run. Go." 

\-------------

This is where the mess starts. Enjoy.

Foiled striptease.  
On the bright side, Shadow Weaver knows she is in trouble err love and it only took her 20 chapters which is pretty fast by my standards.  
Oh look more points for Angella. :-D   
And more despair for Shadow Weaver.  
For those wondering, there will be shadowy succubus Shadow Weaver much later in the story.


	22. Spells

Angella gently took Castaspella aside. The queen felt Shadow Weaver's eyes on her, unwavering.  
"It is more important to spend time with your daughter."  
"I can't risk the safety of the queendom. I will stay here longer if I have to. I'd never forgive myself..."  
"Stop self-sacrificing. You'll feel less aggitated after you have gone out. I know you must have had enough with this one by now. Spending your whole morning here...."  
Angella looked at Shadow Weaver trying to make her eyes sign a warning to her to be on her best behaviour.  
"I am the one who can do this. You need some time off."  
"Casta, make sure you leave soon so Adora doesn't know you're gone and decides to 'try something'."  
"You are taking Adora with you?"  
"Yes. She needs the diversion. We'll be back as soon as we can. Don't take any advice from her. Good luck." she whispered before hurrying away.  
She stood by the door a while longer, her eyes only upon Shadow Weaver who stood up as to greet her new guest. Angella held the masked gaze as CastaSpella connected her powers to the circle. She then left. 

CastaSpela cast a look on the spider in her light-spun web. Without a word or further ado she let her magic run through the enchantment. Its veins felt secure as ever. The spell had slightly taken on a taste of its occupant. A tinge. It was not a bad taste. Shadow Weaver's magical imprint was crystal clear. Joyful in its excellence. Castaspella was almost envious of it. Her own imprint was not the neatest, but it was sturdy. There were no breaches or weaknesses evident.  
Shadow Weaver stood stil. She focused on her breathing, to drive out traces of anger and panic. If she spoke those would be overly evident.  
It was tempting to cast Castaspella some remarks on spellcasting to make her doubt herself and some more on present day Mystacor not living up to her memories of a powerful past, to really make her blood boil and have her mess up her check-up by straining her magic too much with her emotions.  
Castaspella's first enchantment was that of a slow building strenghtening, if this succeeded, the other tests she had in mind would be largely redundant. She wanted to make this place as safe as possible. She could not leave Bright Moon in Shadow Weaver's hands. The woman who haunted Mystacor for decades. Castaspella could be home soon and relunctantly leave Angella with this foul being.  
A humming sounded, the spell winding. Castaspella looked about the room, at the small stools, every surface. She did not want to sit while waiting. Angella had taken the breakfast tray with her. Castaspella had expected her to bring something for her.  
She released a small huff of displeasure, which Shadow Weaver took as an invitation for conversation.  
"Angella failed to provide you with biscuits as you work. If I had known you were visiting, I would have prepared."  
"I didn't ask you."  
"Yes, well, it would seem you two had a minor miscommunication."  
"It would seem so." Castaspella grunted.  
"By a curious whim of fate, I was about to request you." Shadow Weaver took a deep breath. "There is something I want from you... your opinion on a matter of a delicate nature."  
"Nice for you. Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with me."  
"There was a fault in the healing powers of She-ra. They do not heal all. A taint has been passed onto me. It cannot be left to fester. Hear me out, for all of our sakes. It is of the utmost importance..."  
"Stop talking like we are on the same team."  
"We are."  
"Just tell me what 'you think' is amiss."  
Shadow Weaver graciously inclined her head and lowered herself to the floor.  
"This is what you need to draw to eleviate yourself from more trouble. You have to cast it over me, no one else will experience any harm." Her hand traced invisible lines. "These are the essential lines, the focuspoints, ...Well? What are you waiting for?!"  
"I am not going to sit here with you and perform spells I don't even know!"  
"I said it is for everyone's wellbeing. Either you do this or you release me for a few seconds so that I can." She put much pressure on those final words. If she had to scare the head of Mystacor into this, she would.  
She held out her hand to receive Castaspella's.  
"Give me your hand. I can draw it with your magic."  
"You can't just borrow someone's hand." Shadow Weaver cocked her head in disbelief.  
"Try me."  
"Go back to step one and tell me what the hell is going on!" Shadow Weaver looked at hear as though she was a very slow student indeed. "Or you are not getting anything..."  
"My lovely Adora, in her best efforts and divine inexperience, unwittingly made this come to pass, she transferred her own imbalance onto me." She tried again. "Eager as she was to restore me to health with her new powers she imbued me with superfluous energies."  
"You'll have to be a clearer than that if you want me to understand your plight."  
"She is an impetuous teenager. Isn't it obvious?"  
"Don't go insulting teenagers."  
"The compulsion to 'belong' has taken hold of her, the selfish purpose to pursue experiences of company and affection, the impatience of youth that wears off but slowly, the corporeal that destroys her reason, a victim to the empty fervor that can never be met.  
Are you even trying to comprehend what I am saying?"  
"Are you telling me you are horny?"  
"There is no reason to be crude about it. I take no joy in telling you this."  
"It is your problem. Nothing can be done about it."  
"I know a spell."  
"Of course you do."  
"I would not tell you if it was not necessary." Castaspella almost had to laugh at the terrible absurdity of it.  
"Lust is a mundane occurance. Others survive it just fine."  
"It is very inconvenient."  
"I bet."  
Castaspella had no patience for further tests. Or to think any more on any of this. She would walk out, just as Angella often did, follow her example, ignore the Shadow Weaver.  
"We are not here to cater to your physical urges. This is still a prison." Still, it was nice to know Shadow Weaver was having a bad time in a personal way. From what Angella told her she generally looked as though she could go anywhere she liked if she but wanted to. There was something to say for Shadow Weaver being at ease making her easier to deal with on a daily basis. But there were definitely boundaries to hospitality to hostile sorceresses.  
"If you leave things as they are, it won't go well for you." Yes, and if she let Shadow Weaver present her arguments of why this ludicrous plan had to be executed Castaspella would let her talk her into it before she knew it and Shadow Weaver would eat them and this prison up like sweets.  
"I am not going to trust you. You devoured my predecessor and most of his council."  
"That can happen."  
"I was tiny when you wrecked the place. You traumatized my brother." Oh, Shadow Weaver felt a pang of guilt there.  
"What age was Angella?"  
"There was a shortage of teachers for my entire tuition."  
"It shows."  
"I am not going to help you!"  
Shadow Weaver waited for Castaspella to reach the door, to almost see her relax.  
"Angella is lonely, isn't she?" Shadow Weaver dawdled.


	23. Chapter 23

Notes first, a bit spoilery, maybe read the chapter first: 

-I write everything out of order in my notebooks. it is always a quest to find the fragment that I know comes next. The pages I needed most for today and yesterday eluded me. Hopefully some day they will decide to return to me, I really liked them. Anyway, I rewrote it all. So it is not really a problem anymore, enjoy. :)

-I already forget the decision I took on the time it takes to get to Mystacor. 

-Shadow Weaver's feelings are definitely not Adora's fault nor were they brought on by the healing spell containing stray magic. That is just what Shadow Weaver prefers to believe that because it is convenient for her and she evidently she likes pinning her own flaws on others and she is scared of being in romantic love (she absolutely knows this is the state she is in but that is a secret she does not want Angella, Casta or anyone to know). 

-final note is a slight warning: Shadow Weaver is not taking her realization well. She will be saying/thinking some 'not completely nice things' *flutters eyelashes* in the next two chapters. Do not worry, events will not play out as she imagines them. She is too sweet on Angella to act on her fantasies (poor thing). She pretty much crumbles whenever she sees her. Oh and she loves to anger Castaspella. :) To 'motivate' her.   
It is all going so well for Shadow Weaverkins.   
\--------------------------------

The truth spell hit Shadow Weaver head on, almost knocking her back. It was too fast for her to unravel its magic. The automatic sweeping motion her arm made to deflect the spell had no effect.   
"You disgusting piece of filth! I'll kill you! You stay away from her! You Horde villain!"   
Castaspella lunged forward with all the strength and determination of a fury.  
"I should strangle you!" Castaspella hissed. She almost flung herself into the prohibited space the sorceress occupied. She restrained herself just in time, barely managing to. If Shadow Weaver overpowered her, they'd be all the worse for it.  
"You owe her your life! She cares for you every day! She should have let you rot. And you prey upon her to use her, a celestial" The indignation made her voice flip most amusingly. ", for your stupid lowly carnal pleasures! You are not worthy of groveling before her. Of this prison. Only given to you because Adora loves you, forgives you in her misguided madness, you sicken me, almost as much as you sicken Angella."   
She stepped forward, tredded almost too close again.   
Shadow Weaver could almost reach her and by extension her magic, if she provoked her just a bit more... her magic was the kind she knew, that knew her, it would flow so willingly to her experienced hands, to follow her every wish and intuition, whether Castaspella wished it to or not. She would escape easily as breathing. If only CastaSpella crossed the outer line of the circle.   
Shadow Weaver's posture changed to being full of confidence again, she leaned forward.  
"I will kill you." Castaspella grunted, glaring at her. "Look me in the eyes and tell me right now how bad this problem of yours is!"   
Oh, now, Shadow Weaver knew she had her. She could play this truth spell perfectly.   
"I'll kill you." Castaspella threatened again.  
"If I had my powers," Shadow Weaver began, as though reciting a classic epic. "I would set my every last shadow on the task of taking her for me. She will want me. More than she's wanted anything in her life. She'll scream under my ministrations until her voice goes hoarse and disappears completely. I will leave her right here for you to find, covered in tender bruises. One day. She will be light-headed, weak and begging. She will be strong on my magic. She will fly higher than before. She will be pleading with you not to kill me because I own her so well. I'd drink her soul, if I could."  
"I will fucking..."  
"Kill me, yes, but I will be gone by then. Only to visit your queen for the rest of her life, in my ghost, in shadows, to give her flowers at midnight. Did I say give her flowers? I meant to water her flower, feed on her flower and guide her to the most painraking heights. Her nightly torments will have her questioning her sanity, her morality, among other things, and leave her unfit to rule. It is going to be torture.  
So the question that remains is very simple, my dear. Do you want to save your friend?"  
Castaspella said, uselessly. "I hate you."  
"Most do. For now." Things change all the time.   
And judging by the revolt on Castaspella's face, she certainly believed Shadow Weaver capable of what she just declared. Shadow Weaver almost started to feel better about her situation.  
Castaspella hung her head.   
You are the leader of Mystacor, you are the offically sanctioned mistress of magic, you can fix this, Casta, just don't say.... "Okay, tell me what to do.  
You said you know an enchantment? To banish those urges from you?"  
"Yes.  
There are spells to cure lust, to make desires run cold within you." This branch of magic was not her usual field of interest but Shadow Weaver thought it best to know as many spells by heart as possible so she could use them when needed, even if that was not frequently.   
"I never heard of such a thing."  
"You wouldn't have had."  
"You've used this spell before?"  
"Yes."  
"On yourself?"  
"No, on acquaintances, teachers, students." Castaspella's skin crawled. Horrible.  
"Is it harmful?"   
"On the young. It was banned in my first years of teaching. There were complaints. Students who no longer felt ...themselves."  
Castaspella once more swore she would kill her.   
"You helped them find this spell?"  
"I recommended it. I did not force them. It was to keep them from diversions. To focus on their studies. I wanted to keep teaching. They kept wanting... special favours from me."  
"I am not helping you."  
"There is not much choice."  
"Is it painful?"  
"It scrapes away part of your soul, of course it is painful."  
"Good. At least something is good about this."  
"It will take forever to explain this spell to you. Let me do it."  
"We have time."  
"For an afternoon of teaching,"  
"It will take longer than that."  
"How so?"  
"I insist you tell me the title of the book where I can find this spell. I am not taking your word for it."  
"It is in the volume of Household Spells: Beyond Heaven and Hell."  
"Mystacor's library has every book on spellcasting ever written. I will find it.  
"You won't. Before your time I was charged with removing this book and others from the archives, to be destroyed."  
"Because they were dangerous?"  
Shadow Weaver nodded, not to waste words on this. "You can find this one in a crevice in the pedestal beneath old master Q-Nobi's portrait."  
"You hid an entire bookcollection all over Mystacor?"  
"What else could I do?"  
"Tell me where to find the others."   
Shadow Weaver shook her head.  
"You'd better hurry, Angella will be home soon. You know the book, the location, summon it to squash my uncalled-for lust." She sounded far too happy when saying that last word.  
"I am not performing magic this close to you! Except for ...the actual spell."  
"And more check-ups? Fine, run to the other side of the castle if that makes you feel better, summon the book and we will begin."  
Castaspella ran, in feverish panic, she slammed the door behind her, ran through the corridor.  
I am not doing this! I am not sticking my hand where I can't see, where I can't check for traps first. I will return to Mystacor. Find the book, return here. As fast as I can. On my own.  
She had the distinct impression that Angella was far more talented at manouvering Shadow Weaver than she was. This was already a disaster.   
Leave a note for Angella.   
She had faith in the circle and in Angella. Shadow Weaver deserved to suffer. Could she leave her alone without supervision? Alone with Angella? I will be back tomorrow. I will sort this out. 

\-------------------------------------------  
Yes, that would be Obi-Wan Q-Nobi. :) (alternate spelling in alternate world)

Household Spells, it is like Grimm's Household Märchen. 

Teacher Casta: Shadow Weaver! Stop writing smutty self-insert fiction in class or I'll make you read it out loud for everyone.  
Shadow Weaver, having no sense for propriety, proudly starts reading: "The Day I captured Queen Angella and sexually spoiled her until she loved me. (uncensored, thoroughly exaggerated version) by a dark sorceress of excellence."  
to be continued next chapter....


	24. Chapter 24

I... just want to get to the cuddling.  
\----------------------------------

"You are still here." Oh dear, she sounded relieved. Why was the Rebellion like this? Was is too much to ask to be imprisoned by someone capable? "Were you humming?" Angella asked, when opening the door, she sounded amused now.   
Shadow Weaver shook her head, her forehead-mask leaning hard against the barrier, the spell protested in creaks and sparks, sounds which oddly did resemble humming.  
"Can you stop that?" Angella had the impression Shadow Weaver had been pressing herself into the blue light for a long time.  
"No. I need the peace of mind." she answered through gritted teeth. She had been of a mind not to speak at all.   
If she pressed in hard enough the white hot magic almost singed her into making her forget her pesky desire trouble.   
"Stop it." What she was doing sounded painful. "I thought I told you, you are not to hurt yourself. Knock it off."   
"Shhh." Shadow Weaver said, raising her hand to the shield as well, holding her open palm against it as a peace offering. Angella stood right before her, patiently holding a tray of food, her foot tapped to the circle. The foot shifted, hit the barrier, Angella hit the side of her leg, Shadow Weaver startled back. "Auw."  
Shadow Weaver glared vaguely in her direction, like one betrayed.  
"You are back early." She could not summon any malice to her voice. Angella heard her smile behind her mask.  
"Is that a complaint?" Damn it if she didn't sound as if she was teasing. This was not the time to look for a chink in Angella's armour! Angella in armour... stop it.   
Angella had a soft cheerfulness to her, that she refused to fully show, because it would make any conversation feel awkward at this point. She was not to be happy around the prisoner.   
That is exactly why Angella had hurried to her library and set herself to some calming tasks before even coming here.   
"You said... there would be no one else coming in here." She did not sound accusing, more as if she was proclaiming that Angella had lost a bet. Her voice deep, deceptively calm: "Only you."   
Now, Castaspella, she would be impressed by this bit of drama, she would probably run screaming again.   
Queen Angella rationally answered. "I can't do the check-ups. I can also not inform you when they take place or you will plan something."  
She had missed Angella.   
Shadow Weaver stood up to face the queen. Not exactly to face her, she was trying very hard not to have to look directly at her. Her gaze fixed on the jewels below her throat. She felt her rationality slip, quickly redirected her eyes to watch the door behind the queen.  
"This is for you." Angella spoke, meaningless words, not even meant to fill a void or soothe her, they served no purpose at all, it was insulting, infuriating.  
Angella held the tray out, not crossing the lines to the enchantment herself with as much as a finger. Shadow Weaver took the tray with both hands, automatically sliding her hands forward to be placed be as close to Angella's as she could.   
Angella looked her over more quizzically. Shadow Weaver appeared battered somehow. Grumpier than usual. Angella liked her a bit bitter, glum, moody, cranky, whichever of these it was that applied best to her, but not this much.  
The queen reminded herself not to think this way. This woman was not an old acquaintance she had agreed to meet up with for tea and company every day. The sorceress lady had no choice.  
She must hate being this small before her.  
Angella could see every cluster of knots in her matted locks. She would like to take the sleep tangles from her hair. She had watched them grow with every visit, tangling up from morning to evening. Her own hair was not this lively. She should allow her to a brush her hair more than once a day. She could offer her a brush in the morning, it may improve her mood. But there were to be no novelties until Casta returned. Angella almost reached out in an act of outrageous misconduct. She suppressed a smile as she restrained herself. This was an odd day.   
One where spending time with Shadow Weaver made her... feel good about herself. It could not be a good sign. Best to be extra careful then.  
CastaSpella had advised her not to dwell on details so much, to glance over them more often and not to worry. Angella was talented at worrying, it was part of her job. She could make herself ignore, that was as far as she could go. Shadow Weaver was detail-focused as well. Angella noticed the distance between their hands, Shadow Weaver did too. They both looked at their hands, and did not look back at each other's faces. It was nice. Queen Angella decided she should always do what felt best and safest to her.  
Handing objects directly did not feel more dangerous. It did not feel less intimate than their previous arrangement either.   
Angella let go of the tray.   
Shadow Weaver sat down again, placing the tray next to her, ignoring it.   
She started drawing an enchantment again, spreading it out before her.   
"is that the same shape you drew this morning?"   
"Yes." Shadow Weaver rubbed her fingers as if to rub the spell off, then started again regardless. "It is itching."  
"Is it stuck in your head, like a tune?"  
"Yes."  
Angella remembered Micah having this sometimes, especially when he was overstraining himself.  
"Is it a nice one?"   
Shadow Weaver scoffed.   
"I am trying to wear it down. It is going to keep me up if it stays this persistent." Maybe the truth spell lingered as a fine mist to make her answer this freely. Only, truth spells did not make you more eager or open to answer. They only made you incapable of lying and they wore off quickly too. So the thing making her answer had to be... the other thing.  
"Can you drive it out with another tune?"   
"That is what I am afraid of. That something else will drive it out."  
"It will be a long time before you can cast it. You have all the time to forget it and re-remember it when you want to. What is the spell for?"  
Shadow Weaver felt her voice choke. "Painrelief." She answered, hoarsely.  
"Eating your dinner may help. There is chocolate in the dessert."  
"It won't."  
Angella saw Shadow Weaver's hand tremble mid-enchantment, she stopped and hid her hand under her robes, clutching her ankle under the cloth.   
"There is a snag in the circle spell." It was easy to lie.  
"I gathered as much from Casta."  
"She is getting the instruments needed to cure it." Shadow Weaver silently continued "What will we do without her?"  
"The same as before. Nothing changes."  
"How long will she be gone?"  
"That is not something I can tell you."  
No-nonsense Angella did not let herself linger any longer, she returned to her chambers.   
She had been looking forward to being home after the madness of her outing. It was comforting to tend to her daily duties.   
There had been little calmth to her daughter-mother-daughter's best friend, possibly girlfriend, afternoon. There had been a distress call, a potential Horde attack. They had rushed over there. Adora had leapt into action. Ignoring Angella's advice for prudence, she rushed into a whole array of needless trouble. It turned out to be a false alarm, but the excitement had certainly cheered Glimmer up. Adora however seemed all the more on edge upon return. Angella had almost lost her earring in the adventure. Certainly the biggest fright of her week.   
When she was back in her room, fresh from their trip and the outside air, she replaced her torn outfit, brushed her hair and felt happy. She took her time before confronting Shadow Weaver. She could not let her see she was in a good mood, that she had been in a good mood ever since they last talked.   
When the woman had held out her hand to her, so confident, for her to take it. Angella had wanted to reach for her, she had to give her credit there. She had moved her arm so elegantly, it appeared unassuming and inviting while only greed and cruelty lay behind it all. One day Shadow Weaver would realize it was futile to try to enchant or entrance her with pretty gestures. All the same, Angella had lost what words Shadow Weaver said after that. Her attention span suddenly completely gone. It should not have surprised her, after a long morning in her company.  
She should keep to short visits in the future.   
CastaSpella had left behind notes on queen Angella's desk. They were colourful and in a large handwriting, impossible to miss, with arrows drawn on them to direct her from one to the other. It was set up in a rush. The brightest one was sprawled over her journals and read   
"Angie, I don't trust you to keep in touch, you never do. So I left you this instead of a formal letter."   
The next one been put atop the pile of new-cut robes for their prisoner. "Don't give her anything new yet. Keep interactions to a minimum."  
"Find a way to divert her. It is rather urgent." read a green one. Which is why Angella had hastened to the library, where she selected, in flight, a few books on the healing forces of plants and a few bundles on folktales. It was lecture she considered safe enough to present to Shadow Weaver. Of course she could get ideas from those too. She can get ideas from anything. These seemed a safer option than obscure works that might actually interest her or novels that would only vex her. She put the books on her desk.   
She leafed through one now. Shadow Weaver used to live in Mystacor, that was not far from here, she would already know most of these stories. Angella just had to be careful not to give her any works relating to She-ra. She considered staying up this night to read these and check.  
The other notes drifted back into her mind.  
"The spell is safe, but there is a problem."  
The final, largest note: "I will be back to fix it." There were no specifics on her return.   
Angella cleared the poignant, if vague, notes from her desk.

By the time she returned to collect the plate her prisoner had gone completely silent. She returned her dinner without looking at her.  
She was hiding more than usual, not only in mask and layers of clothing. She was curled up to the side of her circle. Her face burried under the long sleeve to her gown. The blanket had been exiled to the outside of the circle. Whatever pinch she was in, she wanted to be left alone. 

Shadow Weaver could not muster looking up at Angella. Knowing explicitily what it was she wanted from her, made it worse to be around her. One more discomfort to get rid of. She would have to grow used to wanting to sleep with her. She did not want to.   
Angella was not going to yank her up, Shadow Weaver thought, she was not going to grab hold of her and call her out on her desire to win her for herself. And what if she did? Shadow Weaver had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, instead of pushing herself to seduce her, all she could do was keep quiet.

When Angella came with the towels and washing bowl, she informed Shadow Weaver that the new dress would have to be fitted another day. Shadow Weaver did not care. They did not say anything. Shadow Weaver barely seemed to register she was there at all if Angella had not given the brush an extra push on the floor to have Shadow Weaver notice the object.   
Angella concluded that Casta's visit or whatever it was that needed straightening out with the prison cell had thrown the sorceress off more than she was willing to admit, but she would undoubtedly go back to being her arrogant self soon.

Only when Shadow Weaver leaned forward, crouched over the washing bowl to push it back to her, something churned in Angella. There had been a truth to Shadow Weaver's words that morning. Yes, she liked seeing her. She liked knowing she would find her here in the morning. She liked her manner and her presence, even how she slept. How she lay on the floor had become familiar to her, welcoming even. Shadow Weaver on her knees, the curve of her back when she reached for something.  
It was pretty, just that, pretty.   
Angella could not take her eyes off her, close to the floor, close to herself. She almost tentatively moved half a step back.  
She was pretty much used to seeing her like this. Why all of a sudden did this view disturb her and make her shy away?  
One thing that could not lay at the cause was magic.

"Sweet dreams, Angella."  
"Sweet dreams, Shadow Weaver."


	25. Chapter 25

She hungered. Dark magic will do that. It felt like ages since this hunger last roared at her, it was eardeafening. She needed it soothed. She needed to soothe herself.  
She had tried drawing the spell, over and over again, to resummon her self-assurance. She would be drawing it a few thousand times more that night, powerless to perform it, only feeling the urgency to it, the urgency...was messing with her mind. She could not sleep, as per usual. She couldn't draw the spell correctly before, when Angella was there. She wondered if she could still. Despite it being flawlessly lodged in her mind for many days, this night half the time she could not remember the spell correctly or fully trace it. She started repeating her mistakes until she could no longer tell what was right. Almost every time she would hesitate. Above all, a sorceress needed a steady hand. She could not lose track or focus when Castaspella returned, if she returned. She had instilled enough anger in her to fuel her. The woman took too long.  
Suddenly her greatest hope lay in imagining that she could fall asleep and her affections for the queen would be gone in the morning.  
She did not want Angella to find her almost crying out in pain from what feels like a grasping thorn bush reaching out from her stomach to her heart. She would most certainly appear convincingly ill then. Compassion would not make Angella's voice grow soft nor would it make Angella touch her. Shadow Weaver wished to hold her face, to caress her skin and not feel herself crumble. Whatever happened, she did not want this to happen, and Angella would not let it. No, she had kept worse secrets than this hidden.  
She could keep this away from Angella, for months if needed, forever. The expectations her personality created, not to mention the mask she wore, would make that very easy.  
She would not suffer this for months! She kicked against the shield to take off the tension. Someone would pay if she had to. Hordak, first and foremost. Castaspella. She rested her head against the shield again. Herself. This was exactly why this emotion vexed her so deeply.  
It not only brought a new weakness into your very being, it made you a conspirator in your own demise.  
A few months would have made all the difference. Only weeks ago, the queen had been promised to be delivered to her. Angella would have come to collect her daughter, or rather she would have been exchanged for her. One brat off Shadow Weaver's hands and one queen in her hands for her to meet and torture. Shadow Weaver knew exactly how she would have approached her. As soon as she had received this great responsiblity from Hordak, she would have restrained her immediately, numbed her body and mind by shadows. She wondered if she would have felt the same turmoil then when standing before her as she experienced very time now. If so, she would have quenched it in a hurry. She would have torn off her mask, not to frighten but to possess, take her kiss, furiously strong. Shadow Weaver felt her knees go weak thinking of this. This happened too every time she watched the serene angel-queen on the other side of her confinement.  
Why pick her? Why want her? Moonstone, power, queen, obviously. She would not have needed more motivation.  
It wasn't that.  
There were so many she could have at the Horde. Ones better suited to her. Shadow Weaver shuddered. Those weren't good enough for her, were they? None of them would sit next to her and ask her what colours, plants and books she liked, as if they happened to be in the same class together. Why did this touch her? How could it not? Her mouth opened, her lip trembled.  
Captured Angella would not have seen more than a suggestion of her face. Shadow Weaver would already have altered her perceptions, angled her mind just so that she would only see what she wanted her to see and view the world entirely differently from then on. She would not have kept her in shackles for long. As long as it took to bleed her for information. She would tightly bind her powers. It would not have taken longer than a day.  
After this, Angella would have been shown a hospitality far greater than what was given to Shadow Weaver here.  
For starters, she would have given Queen Angella a bed from the very first night. Shadow Weaver would have graciously guided her there personally. Knowing how weak interrogation made a person she would have been there to support the queen. The Bright Moon queen, someone she had only every corresponded with through impersonal war messages and who she had only seen fighting from a distance.  
She would let her lean on her as she fell from her bonds, she would have her shadows carry her just enough for Angella to manage walking again. Her wings would be tied, most carefully wrapped in Shadow Weaver's magic. She would stay by her side, clearly in command, so everyone could see the vanquished queen. She would herself be cloaked so deep in her shadows that no one could tell if she was wearing her mask or not.  
She thought a bit longer on how it would feel to support Angella with her shadow. She would touch her, more real caresses than through flimsy tendrils.  
People are more susceptible to touch after being tormented, it was a simple truth.  
She could imagine Angella being silent and defiant and appearing calmer than she was. Undeniably brave.  
She would lead her to the most dramatic sky view. She would steadily rise above her as Angella walked. She would hold her by the upperarms, maybe place a hand on the short hair in the back of her neck, turn her head up at her and bring herself down upon her.  
It was a rare occasion when Shadow Weaver succeeded in disgusting herself. She had definitely reached that point by now. Yet she could think of little else. Ironically, these sickening headache thoughts only left her when Angella was actually present.  
There, before the red sky line, she would have her Darkness block everything out to Angella but her touch. Nothing for the queen to observe but her. Her light to keep. She would fill her lungs and veins with her.  
Next, she would open up the door to her own room to her, let her share her bed. The pinnacle of hospitality surely.  
She would set herself most pleasantly upon the task of ingraining, ingratiating, herself in the queen's psyche.  
She would place her, and the bed, before the bleak red skies so Angella could watch them dim at night, as Shadow Weaver's own darkness engulfed her. The sky view in her room would make her miss Bright Moon all the more.  
Shadow Weaver would have its brightest light standing beside her. How all other lights must hate her. No, that would be impossible. No one could hate her. Not even her daughter who liked to pretend she did. Her daughter, Angella's smaller roughly-Micah-spirited version, the only one who dared claim to hate her, must love her most deeply of everyone. And maybe be jealous of her? The fairest of the land, Shadow Weaver mocked.  
She had to tug herself out of these thoughts, or indulge them more commitedly. For her sanity's sake. She used to make fun of her.  
And now she was thinking of watching that dreadful morning sky light up with her not only here but in the Frightzone as well because it made her feel as though there was strength coursing through her body.  
No.  
She would subject Angella to the perpetual storms of the Frightzone's disruptive environment. She wanted the red sky-line, her red-clothed self and beautiful red-rimmed orgasms to become intriniscally entwined to Angella. The Fright Zone would become equal to feelings of tenderness to her and she would grow to love that sky more than that of this Bright Moon place with its poetically gentle skies which cast a light and warmth that made it even to Shadow Weaver trying to stay angry. She would have Angella in her care as she was now in hers. Basking alone at night in this soft comforting light, resting upon her. She would have it feel the same for Angella, through her powers, have her shadows rest upon her, touches soft as light, she should soon feel as warm and safe as Shadow Weaver felt here.  
She would have her wake to those bloodred mornings loud with thunder, storm and doom. Her own first mornings to that sky were not something she cared to remember, but she would have Angella's be filled with a bliss far surpassing any delight Angella may have previously experienced when watching the pretty skies of her past.  
Shadow Weaver would have her desire her despite herself. She would caress her through her slumber because she had experienced this herself to be the most fullfilling and beautiful way to wake. She wanted her to feel completely herself. She would make Angella taste beauty in this foul air. She would press any negative thoughts of Angella's away. She would have every morning drenched in her moans.  
It would do no good to dwell on versions of Angella that nearly could have been called into existence weeks ago. That was not a serviceable plan.  
Once, it could have been, with Angella under her thumb Shadow Weaver could delude herself into believing that staying with the Horde did not hurt her as much as it did, but then nothing ever truly managed that. She would hide her away in her room, only let her out when the queen was needed for the Horde to undermine and dismantle the Rebellion through her.  
Their dear queen in her grip.  
Keep her. Until Hordak ordered her from her hands. And then? Shadow Weaver did not know. Angella would not bend a knee to Hordak, Shadow Weaver could not imagine breaking her that way. Beast island. It was doing her head in. Overthrow Hordak?  
The fantasy had seemed realistic but she could not see beyond the moment that Angella no longer served a purpose to the Horde. Shadow Weaver would become even more awful, more bitter, even more efficient, and she did not want to, without her forced plaything. She did not want anything of that lifeline. Damn it she wanted Angella more sincerely than that.  
She thought back on how Angella's hands would grip her bedcovers. While here they only hold her towels and clothes.  
Shadow Weaver would no longer want to leave her bedroom herself. There, then, she could have shown Angella all she can do with her. To boast about her bedroom magic now seemed deprived. Telling Casta about her fascination had trapped her in these fantasies. Where she could sweep over the queen, in all her impenetrable darkness, entangle with her, always float taller than her, pull her to the windows and watch the dark and light with her at her leasure, how Angella's light shone, here she could overpower her again and again even before they reached the bed, before this night reached dawn, see her face when she pleased this very different, very imaginary Angella. The one person who would not forget how good she can be.  
If she were to face facts, she would probably let Angella out for anything that took her fancy and make unashamed misuse of her high position within the Horde.  
The Horde was nowhere without her.  
Then it dawned on Shadow Weaver, she would be of little use to the Horde either if she were happy.  
The very different Angella here, this night, she had nudged her hairbrush closer to her when she could not move to pick it up right away because of her distracted, disconnecting thoughts.  
The idea of Angella being this tender with her, had her give up on any fantasy.  
She could only keep her by staying.  
She doubted Angella would have stood as proudly in the Fright Zone as she did here. Nor would she bring her food or small conversations if Shadow Weaver were the captor. She would not try to placate her in either version. But at least here the queen was comfortable with her. In the Fright Zone Shadow Weaver would have been a scourge on her being. She may not even have seen half how lovely Angella is. But she would have gotten to hold Angella close as she would like to hold the morning, clasp to her, too soon she would have cast her hopes and dreams upon her. Smothered her.  
It is the gentle moments that sound the strongest, that is never a good sign.  
She needed her mind to be clearer.  
She is a present from Micah, she told herself. She is a present and you'd better start enjoying her while you are here and you'd better... get some sleep.  
Let this be over soon.  
\---------- 

"I want to make someone happy and I am trying very hard to make it sound creepy so it does not freak me out even more."  
Light Spinner, saviour of books, Shadow Weaver, destroyer of childhoods, this is not your day.  
Next up... is a favourite part of mine.


	26. Chapter 26

"Are you here to watch the moons light up with me again?" Shadow Weaver raked her hair back. "Oh, look what the cat dragged in. This is a pleasant surprise. Step closer. What took you so long?"  
"I didn't sleep!" Castaspella cried out, aggravated all over again. "I rushed here as soon as possibile." She felt terrible for playing a part in this. As much as she wanted to let Shadow Weaver stew, she could not endanger her friend and queen.  
It almost hurt CastaSpella to witness how chipper Angella was after these few weeks of tending to Shadow Weaver. She did not want to see Angella's cheerfulness, small as it may be, leave her. It was Angella who had made CastaSpella grow more confident in this undertaking as well. But that just goes to show Shadow Weaver had been playing with them all along. She did not want to let Angella know of Shadow Weaver's vile disposition towards her. It would dampen what pride and joy Angella had derived from this experience.

"You took your sweet time." Shadow Weaver insisted. "Close the door."  
CastaSpella glared daggers at her.  
"And lock it." Shadow Weaver added.  
This was Bright Moon. There was no lock. CastaSpella sealed the door with a spell.  
She pulled a package from her robes.  
"The book you were supposed to dispose of. If this goes wrong, the fault is on you."  
Look at that, Miss Mystacor was good for something afterall: to retrieve her books like a good puppy.  
"Let's get this over with." Shadow Weaver whipped her hair back once more.  
Castaspella folded the book open before her.

This was her farewell to Angella, it had to be.  
It was time for her to no longer hold such rediculous amounts of meaning to her. 

"Vanquisher of Lust." CastaSpella read from one page. "Vanquisher of Love." she read from the page next to it. "These titles..."  
"are horrible, yes, but the spells are effective."  
"I practiced..."  
"Take the second one."  
CastaSpella scrunched her face. "Are you sure?"  
"Yes, it is stronger. It is an amplified version of the other spell. It pulls out the roots too, so there will be no danger of the sentiment returning."  
CastaSpella did not look convinced. This was a dark spell. She looked as though she had been presented with a type of biscuit she didn't like. Despite her clear sense of purpose, she hesitated.  
Shadow Weaver would not let CastaSpella's spellwork fail by lack of showing her conviction. She needed her to perform this right. She would talk and guide her through this most thorougly. She would have to make CastaSpella want to prove herself again.  
"It will inflict even more damage." to your psyche...  
"Yes. You don't mind that, do you?"  
CastaSpella supposed not. Hurting Shadow Weaver would feel like a twisted kind of justice.  
"If I remember correctly, you should add more support lines to uphold the structure. It is especially fragile at the fringes."  
"If I do that they will turn into attack lines, aimed at me."  
Shadow Weaver shrugged. She looked at CastaSpella as she moved the book a bit closer to the circle regardless and also stepped closer.  
"Good," Shadow Weaver commented. "I don't bite."  
That was not funny, or whatever it was supposed to be. Castaspella adjusted her stance, they would have to work together to some extend for this to succeed. To be honest, some of the magic in that book was so advanced it made her dizzy. She hated it.  
"We can't trust you or any magic you suggest."  
"You can. There is not much choice. This needs doing. If you want more time to find a spell that is more to your taste, the problem will grown beyond our reach. I have more knowledge on these matters than you can dream of possessing."  
Castaspella looked properly intimidated. CastaSpella quickly swallowed her fears and she silenced herself. She knew when not to question her.  
It was a nice, predictable reaction. Shadow Weaver liked being taken seriously.  
She wondered for a moment on CastaSpella. She considered that she was most likely named after her brother's talent for casting. A guess on her parents' side that she would be equally good at magic. They had probably hoped for the best. She must have felt a life-long pressure to live up to her name. Poor thing.  
"I am not deviating from the book. I am doing this spell exactly as it says here."  
"Well, then, show me how you would do it." Shadow Weaver stood up, to direct her. "If you are going to draw me a spell, your execution of it will have to meet my standards. Or you will have to let me draw it. No?"  
CastaSpella shook her head, biting back words. On the plus side, she looked more determined than ever.  
"Let's see."  
Shadow Weaver moved in a mirror image to CastaSpella. She showed her what to do when CastaSpella lost track, she nudged her hand up when it needed to be higher. She showed her more what to do than directly telling her. It was easy for Shadow Weaver to fall back into her teaching role.  
However convincingly she mirror-led CastaSpella, Casta did not stray from the book.  
She was more patient than Casta had expected. She was very strict, yet honestly encouraging. Almost friendly, certainly likeable and capable. Shadow Weaver could tell this angered Casta all the more, which in turn amused Shadow Weaver. She held onto that enjoyment whenever she grew frustrated herself by how long this was taking even with one as experienced and, she had to admit, talented as Castaspella. The tricky thing was that she couldn't hold her hands and do it for her. She really wanted to. Shadow Weaver's hands at times hit the blue barrier, she scratched her nails into it in annoyance. She shook the tension out of her. Were there demons plaguing her? They usually did exactly as she wanted. She had not been this nervous to perform an incantation since... better not think about that.  
At long last, the enchantment was perfect.  
"You'll have to be very quiet," CastaSpella warned. "or the guards will barge in here regardless of the excuses I gave them and disrupt the spell."  
"There is not much time." It was dawn already.  
"I won't go in the circle, I will cast the enchantment from here and draw it over you without touching you."  
"You will have a better grip on it if we touch." CastaSpella activated the circle created before her into approaching her. "Or not." Shadow Weaver complained.  
Shadow Weaver stiffled the initial pain of the magic being pushed over her. She gripped her hands together. It was constricting. It pulled her into a far worse sense of imprisonment than she had ever experienced here.  
She blacked out, was on the floor before she knew it.  
She faintly heard CastaSpella speak, a question she could not make out.  
"Go on." she grunted.  
CastaSpella wrapped the spell up. The pain did not subside but felt more fixed now.  
She saw the extracted matter held out before CastaSpella in the air. The Mistress of Mystacor was clever enough not to touch it.  
"Dispose of it, quickly."  
Her darkness lashed out from the air, teethy and greedy. Its ugly intensity even made Shadow Weaver shudder for a moment of evil memories.  
"Is it... supposed to look like that?"  
Shadow Weaver reckoned it must, because it was hers.  
Any emotion of hers would look that way. With demons at the core of her every cell, her affections would look all-devouring.  
Whenever she had conducted this spell the result had been a similar cloud of power, only more docile, a soft grey matter that kept curling up on itself and drifting around the person she had retracted it from.  
It would do no good watching the dark and bright beams grasping aggressively. She was thankful to have this removed before it got any worse. She, and every part of her, was seeped deeply in demonic energies that would not let her go before she died.  
Time to discover how far she could tamper with that.  
"Now banish it."  
"Can't we... leave it?" CastaSpella was already struggling to contain it, to keep it from pulling away and returning to Shadow Weaver. "Somewhere safe, locked up?"  
"You knew you would have to kill part of me, that was the whole point."  
CastaSpella spoke under her breath. "If this is what a speck of you looks like, all of you must be fed a thousand souls a day to hope to survive." She looked up bravely: "I... It is dangerous to unleash this upon any plane of existence, even the one dead things go to. I can't risk it. It is my responsibility..."  
"Your hesitation is going to upset it. You have not defeated anything yet, it is still tied to me. Cast it out. Destroy it. Your bickering is the biggest threat right now."  
Shadow Weaver perceived the rustling of wings in the corridor.  
"Hurry, girl."  
Her following instructions were muted by a blast of white light that opened the door.  
"Casta!" Angella shouted as she flung Shadow Weaver's breakfast to the floor.  
She still screams the same, Shadow Weaver thought happily, as if a few days would have changed that.  
CastaSpella, in a fit of panic, magically bolted the door again, but Angella was already inside in two wingbeats.  
"What is going on?"  
"What does it look like?" Shadow Weaver answered soberly. She noted the ball of blackness had faded to being almost invisible, a ghost in the air.  
"I asked Casta, not you!"  
"It is necessary." said Shadow Weaver in her doom-voice, which Angella paid little attention to.  
"We are not trusting her with magic, Cast-a-Spella, you made that rule yourself."  
"I am doing the casting, not her."  
"Break it off." A resolute answer.  
"Right now."  
Angella dove down to pull CastaSpella's hands out of alignment. As if the spell would dissipate on its own then. 

This is when the blackness became much clearer visible again. It came out of a well-considered hiding. It disturbed the room, ready to fight. It rocketed towards Angella.  
Shadow Weaver interceded, tried to. She knew spells to keep the raging Angella back, to keep her raging self at bay. The movements she instinctively performed did nothing. A faint magic hit the barrier and was extinguished.  
Her dark matter reacted as though having been given a direct command from her: ANGELLA.  
Her love was predatory, of course. It recognised Angella. And when Casta's distraction momentarily released it, it opted for pursuing its obsessive focus and eagerly latching onto her over returning to its original host.  
It made a great swoop first to knock CastaSpella out and remove any grip she may reclaim on it. Then it hit the queen from the sky, as she flew not far from where Casta had stood.  
The next scream Shadow Weaver heard was her own. 

\------------------------------------------  
Clifhanger. :)  
*cuddles that happy ball of demon love energy*  
The 1000 souls Warhammer reference was a request, a dare, from my sibling.  
Next up, the most important part of the entire story, I hope I get it right.


	27. Kiss

This time we are taking "the fastest way to the heart" as Olde "Holly" Haggard would write. 

Delay due to... I so badly wanted to get this right!  
I have to cut the chapter in half again. Ah well, you'll get to love the eternal sparkles out of Angella twice then.

This story has been hit by a 100 kudos! :o A legendary event. Party time! There are no survivors.  
You have unlocked some of my storyboard sketches to this chapter on Tumblr. -apologies for the bad picture quality-  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Angella's body fell not too far from Shadow Weaver. Her involuntary landing did not sound too hard or painful. Shadow Weaver reached for her. Ribbons of darkness gathered up above Angella, clouding the air and wriggling to seek their way futher inside her. Shadow Weaver took hold of Angella's shoulders, gripping too hard at first, she saw the woman wince. Besides this, Queen Angella seemed very much unaware of her surroundings and what was going on. The dark demon ribbons snatched at Shadow Weaver's hands as she pulled once more. Shadow Weaver attempted to draw Angella entirely into the glowing blue circle, her tiny circle realm of shadows, supporting her under the shoulders. She slid the body, which was slowly struggling, carefully before her. Better this than talking a barely-there Angella into summoning the immense effort of making her way over to her by choice. 

She held her hands above the queen, to guide the cloud back to herself.   
Once the few wandering ribbons that were left got a taste of Shadow Weaver's presence, they hurried back to her, taking to her flesh and veins as seasnakes to water.   
She had to call the demonic forces back to herself. Before those that had poured themselves into Angella could disperse themselves all over her being.  
Most of it had already taken up lodgings in the queen with plans to stay there.   
She could not feel which threads to connect. She could call on her darkness, without response.   
Considering how obediently they had listened when attacking Angella, interpreting Shadow Weaver's concern for her as an attack signal, they were only going to be sensitive to her influence if it suited them. Afterall, their response to hurry and claim Angella held roots, loathe as she was to think of it, in her heart.  
The queen stuck to struggling against the intrudor.   
Shadow Weaver knew most of it, of the darkness, of herself, was concentrated in her chest, possibly heart, and lungs. It was set to suffocate her.   
The queen shuddered closer to her, her breathing turned shallow.   
"Don't pass out."   
Shadow Weaver unthinkingly whispered.   
If she could reach inside, she could pull it out. Weave a simple spell, reach into her, ...   
She could not connect to it without magic, not when there was a bodily obstacle distancing her, not even by such a small distance.   
She moved her hands frantically over Angella's chest again. Not even a spark. Actually nothing. She could not weave.  
Could not weave herself out.   
First not out of herself, now not out of Angella.  
"Don't eat her."  
She watched her hands hover above Angella's chest like they were made of stone.   
"Don't eat her."  
This will look very well for her when Angella died, by her demons essence, her head practically resting in her lap.   
"Don't eat her."  
Frowning down on her wouldn't change a thing. She reached. No, neither would holding her protectively.   
Once demons latch onto you...settle in, bind you to them... it could be over in a flash. That is, if Angella were lucky and survived.  
"Don't eat her."  
She turned her hands over. She would haul the ravenous demons out some other way.   
She could ease this. She would not let her dark devour her.   
Angella lay still before her, her breathing stopped.  
The dark was anchered to her, she was still their home, one they already loved and thrived in, and they would return to her if they could reach her. She was a magnet to them.  
If she opened herself up to them as wide as can be, she could draw them back in.   
A black hole to swallow them, the smaller black hole, back into. 

Angella unknowingly maintained a prestine and serene look, even when unconscious. Don't dwell on it, don't let it stop you. Out of those only the unconscious was objectable.   
Shadow Weaver wouldn't mind sullying her look to save her.   
She thorougly disliked sitting next to her, crouched over her like an animal. It felt most unelegant.  
She already felt grimy going from one prison to the next.  
She raised Angella's head, careful for the wings when moving her.  
She cradled the back of her head, held her tight right above the neck. She would have to grab her by the jaw too, soon, once she came to, to keep her in place.  
The demons would stain and abuse her soon enough if she didn't and with a far more detritus outcome.

"You won't like this," she said. With her other hand she lay her own hair to one side and then took off her mask.  
"neither will I."  
It felt futile to appeal to her trust. Even if the woman could hear her through the dark smoke swirling inside her, there was no reason between them for trust. Angella was in no position to protest, Shadow Weaver in none to ask for understanding from her.   
"It will help."  
She leaned over and kissed her, as deeply as she had wanted to. She did not have to force her way in. It did not take her long to convincingly, silently urge the queen to open her mouth to her and let her reach deep inside.   
A demoniac red flashed before her eyes, of dark forces scurrying back to her skirts. 

The queen was rousing from the floor, in her arms. Shadow Weaver guided her, as she sat up straighter too. She was still holding her face, surprised that the queen kept the kissing going.   
She looked into Angella's face, the queen's eyes were mercifully closed. Angella released a breath against her lips and Shadow Weaver kissed her again.   
Quickly she redirected her hands, tender hands, to Angella's hair. Tenderness kept the queen kissing.   
Hardly-there Angella responded by draping her own arms around Shadow Weaver's shoulder and waist. Also tender.   
"Such a good queen." Shadow Weaver breathed. How lenient she was. How receptive.  
Angella held her. Angella kissed her.   
She tasted and kissed like anyone else, unlike anyone else.  
Shadow Weaver endulged in the kissing until she was out of breath.  
Then this is what Light tastes like.   
Shadow Weaver was too preoccupied to notice. 

Surely it was almost time to restrain her. To secure her face in position. Firm, stern, brutal. She'd have to remember to do it by hand too. What a bother when before it took no more than a thought to manifest an array of dark tendrils to do her bidding. The queen would resist as soon as she became more aware. The queen was already braver than she had given her credit for.  
"A bit longer." Shadow Weaver said in a soft commanding murmer, keeping her hand in place in the back of Angella's neck.   
Her other hand made its way over to Angella's jaw hand, considering. No forcing needed, yet.  
She gently caressed her hair, her face, to calm her and call out the ghostly demons. She sensed them lingering under her skin. 

The rush of her actions was making her feel confident, yet she was distracted by concerns over things that were of little to no importance.   
When she saw Angella's lips were still slightly open, Shadow Weaver licked her own, she hoped they felt inviting and not too unpleasant, soft even. They felt badly chapped to Shadow Weaver herself.   
She tried not to breathe directly into the queen's face.   
With that same evasiveness she looked down not to meet her gaze, when Angella's gaze wasn't even there to begin with.   
Her eyes unwaveringly closed.  
"Don't pull away yet."   
Shadow Weaver kissed her as if her own life depended on it.   
It did make her task easier that the queen keenly lept out to kiss her back. Angella kept sensing and taking her every cue, despite not seeing her face.   
Somehow Angella had gotten onto the plan. She was evidently using the Light inside her to push what remaining shadows were stuck inside her out of her throat and back into Shadow Weaver. Shadow Weaver could feel the force behind it.  
Angella's hand was wrapped up in Shadow Weaver's hair, softly caressing it, and her back too. This definitely softened Shadow Weaver's mood and opened her up better to receive slices of herself rushing back to her.  
Before she had focused her energy on redrawing her spirit from Angella's.  
It was happening by itself now.  
She was aware only of the kiss.   
This was much easier.  
Angella's willingness to cooperate was ...  
if Angella knew what the situation demanded .... Shadow Weaver had underestimated the instinctive insight, perseverence and sense of duty of this queen.  
The honour and passion that lived in   
Angella  
very deeply kissing.  
holding onto her.   
Ever more.  
Shadow Weaver felt herself grow more bemused.

She felt Angella's lips smile against hers.   
The queen did not know who she was kissing.   
It had to be. Angella had a foul taste in her mouth, from deep inside and sought to expell it. Anyone would be clever enough to hasten sickening fragments of a corrupted soul out, into the one recipient offering to take it.   
Shadow Weaver let go of the intensity of the kiss.   
Traces of shadow floated about them in a now almost mockingly calm current leading to Shadow Weaver.   
Her demon wiles were almost appeased?   
Angella kissed her lips even as Shadow Weaver gathered her breath, and resolve.  
Sweetly Angella spoke to her lips.   
"Shadow Weaver."  
There went that theory.  
She had dropped her hands from the queen.   
Shadow Weaver was startled.  
Angella held her as before, if not closer.  
Before Shadow Weaver could decide whether to object Angella was looking for her lips again and Shadow Weaver gave them to her. 

Afterall, it was dangerous to leave a spell unfinished.   
She knew her voice had fallen away.  
Perhaps she could explain afterwards, but she saw no point in ever doing that.  
This was the nicest spellwork she had been a part of in a very long time.  
The only path available was to continue.   
Shadow Weaver had lost track of how much fun magic could be. This was very different from drawing intricate well-considered webs and pushing your darkest fiercest emotions sensations into shadows.   
She knew there was gradually less darkness floating back into her from Angella.  
The effects on her own person from the broken-off enchantment were healing quickly.  
Angella's hands went up to Shadow Weaver's face and hair. One unashamedly curling up in her hair, one resting near her neck, as in affection, as if she were being cherished for being there.  
She let Angella kiss her as she pleased for a while.  
A good queen.   
She searched for an indicator, some motivation or reaction on the queen's face. She saw none, none she recognised in her panic. Nothing hostile. Perhaps she would have seen something if she saw her eyes.   
Shadow Weaver lightly opened her lips and Angella deepened the kiss, as if to press her own imprint on her.   
This was so much more than it should have been. So much more pleasant than any of this should have been.  
Shadow Weaver's hands were clenched, on air, not exactly closed. She could not get herself to move her hands yet or put them on Angella's person.   
Why the hell would Angella kiss her? Like this? How could she?!

And yet,   
Angella eased her into the kisses.   
The queen was kissing her back so deeply that, to Shadow Weaver's estimation, there could be no traces of harmful pieces of herself left to chase away. She liked how thorough she was. Was this the kissing of someone thinking her life depended on it?   
Better to be safe...   
Every time she thought they were done, Angella would nuzzle close to Shadow Weaver's face, nudge against her, and Shadow Weaver would let the queen find her mouth again, unable to resist.  
Sometimes the kisses would fade into smaller kisses, which felt like a farewell from Angella and made Shadow Weaver already feel bereft, with their lips still touching. Fearing the feeling that, once more, she would never kiss again, she would instigate deeper, hungry kisses again and Angella would kindly follow. Squeezing her eyes shut.   
The Darkness was back inside Shadow Weaver, nestled low there, snug, drowned and deep. Its adventure over, happily forgotten, back to its usual business which was most likely a business of fawning over Angella. It had quieted down by Angella's nearness.  
"Your hair..." Angella began, never finished.   
She had something nicer and more important to do. She returned to the kissing and to gently grasping tresses of her hair and stroking them.  
The impression that Angella was smiling never left Shadow Weaver.

Angella felt Shadow Weaver very slowly, heavily melt against her.   
She had been kissing to stall time, perhaps. Definitely to keep her from escaping. Maybe, now, she was trying to wrangle a sound from her or a compliment, a compliment would be nice.  
Keeping her eyes closed wasn't easy but she would take this over just about anything else.  
These days she was thankful for any moment when she could free herself from thinking of politics.  
She had no plan beyond the kissing.   
She wanted only to postpone going into the space that lay after the kisses, that moment when she would have to think or act in view of what had happened.   
It was a million times more preferable to stay in this moment.  
Angella suspected they were both making this last as long as they could.   
She proudly carried on. 

Shadow Weaver flinched. There was a hand on her cheek. When did that get there?   
She should remove it.  
Her breath stopped, a suddenly sharp sound.   
The moonlight was warm on her skin and so was Angella's gloved touch. Shadow Weaver hadn't felt either, her face already heated by the warmest blush.  
"Shadow Weaver..." almost huskily.   
Shadow Weaver turned away and put her mask back into place.   
"Don't you dare!" Angella cried.

\-----------------------------------------

Hear, the bundle of demon love is cheering for its mommies. :p


	28. Chapter 28

"Don't you dare..."   
Escape?   
Stop this?   
Shadow Weaver did not stop to ask.   
When she moved aside to secure her mask, Angella chased after her and without further warning she was forcefully thrown off balance.  
For a split-second Shadow Weaver could feel herself be lifted off the floor and feared she would have to cling to an Angella in mid-air.   
She shrieked as she fell onto her back.   
The added power of Angella's wings took her by surprise. 

Angella grasped urgently for her wrists to prevent her from casting.   
She pressed her down on the floor. She did not press hard. Inflicting pain was not something the queen could easily move herself to.  
She did not have to.   
Her captive did not struggle under her.   
There was a quick scrambling of arms, half-heartedly trying to break free, but after a short chorus of fliailing, failing. Shadow Weaver gave in. Angella had caught her. She held her by the wrists.  
And Shadow Weaver had instantly gone completely still.  
Angella heard her breathing. She expected a barb to come her way regarding how clumsily she went about restraining her.   
This did not occur.   
She was warm. It surprised Angella. Though she had not thought of Shadow Weaver as someone or something, already dead or 'beyond death', maybe she had thought the ghosts or spirits, whatever she was and whatever she was a host to, would be colder. Maybe, in her own brief contact with their soul, she had thought their warmth to be strange. Shadow Weaver's was a lively warmth from within, not just from the light shining on her. Her warmth was familiar, in ways that should not be be associated with a dark sorceress.   
There was, almost certainly, a leg wrapped around her. Secured as an anchor during their fall and which now stayed in place.   
Shadow Weaver's body molded itself effortlessly to her as she lay on her.  
This is how she draws people in... 

Angella realized her hands were not applying much force to Shadow Weavers wrists. She could wave her hands away if she wanted to. So she fastened her grip, bringing Shadow Weaver's hands closer together above her head.   
The aforementioned wrists slammed unfortunately hard against the barrier.  
"Aauw!" Shadow Weaver's scream was a clear, honest sound, scarcely louder than it should be to deliver the message of 'pain' to Angella's ears. However, it pierced through the memory of recent kisses. Angella regretted this.  
The queen looked puzzled. She held Shadow Weaver's hands in place, pressed on.  
"That hurts." Shadow Weaver spoke through gritted teeth, annoyed.   
"You are nót escaping." Angella warned.   
"No, I am not." Shadow Weaver replied cooly.   
Angella lay down heavier on her. Clearly not believing her. She glared at the mask-face. She tried not to come too close to it with her own face.  
"I can't cross the circle." Shadow Weaver assured her. Making her doubt her all the more.   
Angella moved the hands once more to the shield while watching intently. The shield was still there. The hands stopped against it. The barrier did not break. She raised the hands again, the barrier was left unbroken. Miraculously the spell held up after whatever CastaSpella and Shadow Weaver had been doing to it ...  
Shadow Weaver's hands had flinched but no dark powers spilled forth from them.  
Angella was wearing her sceptical mother face.   
"And no magic?" she asked, distrusting her own eyes.  
"None."  
"Are you certain?"  
"Yes. You can stop hurting me."  
Angella let go of her hands. She let her own hands slide down Shadow Weaver's arms, quickly looking for a place to relocate them. She could not just let her go.   
To the shoulders? She did not like pressing her down in such a domineering manner. She slowly lowered her hands, beneath the shoulders. Clavicles? Hidden under the heavy collar-scarf, she did not wish to mess with that scarf. She needed a better hold than this to keep her balance. Onto...  
she pressed on her chest.   
She felt her heartbeat like this.   
Her captive was looking up at her. Shadow Weaver felt tense under her. Despite the little power Angella put on her.   
A bit lost perhaps, with a queen on her. She wondered if Shadow Weaver could feel the doubt in her own body. She hoped not, she tried not to let it show. An uncertainty crept in on her on what to do and how to hold her captive.  
"Shadow Weaver?" a soft smile lingered. "Are you completely here? ... Is all of you here?"   
It sounded a lot like asking: How much of you is real?  
Aren't you mostly ghosts and shadows?   
"Where else would I be?"  
Haunting Adora...   
Angella did think it likely that an intangible part of her had slipped out through the shield during... whatever had gone on here.

Her heartbeat was too loud and she could not make it stop. Angella's hand grazed her left breast. Her unruly demons clasped her heart. Shadow Weaver took a few deep breaths as a test, Angella's hand did not stray from her breast.   
Her own neediness lashed out at her.   
Angella pressed harder against her, leaning forward. Shadow Weaver's breath stuck. She felt herself press back.   
Arching her back to her touch, as if having her leg around her wasn't already bad enough. She tried not to move her leg, in the hope of not drawing attention to its presence and have Angella notice it.  
Her hand moved over her breast once more.  
Perhaps Angella was seeking out the source of what had happened, tracing back the shadows with her own white magic, only there was no magic to be felt. Shadow Weaver took in a breath, she stopped breathing, held it.   
The prodding was not that bad. She had to remind herself not to relax or enjoy it. No, she was enjoying it. It was definitely more like stroking.   
Her eyes closed briefly, before she forced herself to fix her gaze on Angella's face again. 

Angella looked as though she wanted to call a council on how to proceed. And lacking that council, as if she would like to take a few more days to decide on whether it was safe to release her. She would hold her down until then... Hold her for weeks?  
Shadow Weaver could not read her face well. It was schooled into a neutral, most political expression.   
She tried to catch something in her eyes, some longing. She failed. She sensed only her own desperation and the dark affections that gathered around her heart when seeing her.   
Her touch had an idlesness to it, but she felt like the Angella she knew. She did not look possessed by any demoniac forces. Her presence was calm and pensive as always. Observant.  
Nearby.  
The queen also showed no inclination of wanting to tear her mask off. As long as she did not think to remove it, Shadow Weaver saw no reason to struggle or scramble away from under her, or to perform any other of the daring actions she could, hardly, think of.   
She reached up to the stoic angel and ran her hand over Angella's hair, soothingly.   
She was hesistant to touch her after being thrown down.  
"I can't escape. I promise... Your enchantment is perfectly in place and I am not trying to..." she said softly, her voice constricted when she looked Angella in the face.   
Her sweet-talking plans flew right out of this universe.   
Angella kept looking straight at her, as a first time teacher foolishly giving into a staring contest with one of their heady pupils. Only, the queen was winning.  
Queen Angella would come to her senses soon. Shadow Weaver could see the moment approach when she awoke to take a good, proper look at her. When realization would dawn on her about who she was and all she should not be doing with her. She dreaded this shift. To have to see her disillussionment, the sadness.   
She wanted to have her close. Keep her before that moment.   
She waited for it nonetheless. 

Angella lifted Shadow Weaver's hand from between her hair and neck, took it in her own. The proper thing to say would be: 'We'd better stand up then. Shall I help you?' Angella held Shadow Weaver's hand, she looked back at her and started: "Would you.." ... consider lifting your mask again?   
So we can continue what we were doing?   
Angella moved Shadow Weaver's hand before her own face, let it linger before her lips, careful not to press a kiss on it. She cast her eyes down and shook her head, softly smiling.   
She laid Shadow Weaver's hand on the floor beside them.

\-----------------------  
I want, insist really, to direct you all to breathtaking art! To be found on Tumblr by the most talented the-evil-laughing-kitten:   
https://the-evil-laughing-kitten.tumblr.com/tagged/I-cannot-weave 

The poor thirsty darlings...

You are doing great, Shadow Weaver!

Hey Miss-Well-I-Never-Angella, if a woman is looking weird at you for touching her breasts it is probably because you are Touching Her Breasts.   
And yes, dear, that is a gay.   
I cherish Angella, she is so innocent.  
I hope you enjoyed this "inadver-tiet-ly tiddies" chapter so far. ^^  
-why must I be this silly? :-P -

This story really likes Short updates. I had to cut my text in half, AGAIN. The next half will be up soon.   
I will keep the following updates short, hopefully this means I can update faster.  
Love to you all.


	29. Chapter 29

It was almost endearing.  
The unusual way in which Angella skimmed her body, most inefficently checking for missing demon parts and run-away spirits. As if those would leave gaping weak spots in her body. Shadow Weaver tried not to express her amusement.  
Angella was returning to herself, that is what mattered. She needed a touching surface to ground herself, regain her senses, rebond with reality.  
She had made her body that object.  
It would be interesting, if it wasn't so unbelievable and frankly suspicious.  
Shadow Weaver's amazement currently very much overruled her capacity to act . She did not even lift her arms from beside her body, unwilling to disturb ... this.  
This was her best shot at gaining knowledge about the queen. Discover something to hold against her perhaps. She always valued her personal, ruthless, impressions most.  
Her mind did not want to focus or even begin to construct plans to safeguard herself.  
Angella knew, or at least had sampled some of what darkness lay behind her appearance and yet she tried to hold that darkness now? Caress that darkness?  
Wherever she placed her hands on her, she never forsook her unwavering kindness.  
Her gentleness not withstanding, Shadow Weaver could not ... no, that was wrong, there was no withstanding.  
What had she done to the queen?  
She should make use of it.  
One day soon.

Decisively Angella's hands lowered to a lower part of her ribcase, undeniably still on her breasts.  
Lingered there.  
Angella decided she was to give Shadow Weaver back her relative freedom, inch by inch. Her own conciousness could not allow it any other, more absolute way. She had only her own impressions to trust. This had to feel secure to her.  
Her hands moved, cleared a bit more space. She did not have days to sit here and figure out the truth.  
This way was slow, but, reasonable. Was it safe? Slightly lower. Safe? Lower still?  
This entire situation was not safe.  
She pressed down on her sides. She felt Shadow Weaver tense up more. She hesitated.  
She looked up at the mask. Shied away from it again. It told her nothing.  
But beyond that surface... she thought only of scrambling out from under her, surely. Her prisoner kept still to facilitate this outcome. As one terrified, or simply startled more likely, she feigned the appearance of death. She was keeping herself like this to trick her, keep strong and throw her off. Of course she would want to get away. The queen had to try and find a better way of keeping the upper hand.  
Angella wanted them both to be reasonably comfortable. Someone would step in soon, until then she could not risk anything yet.  
She silently shook off Shadow Weaver's leg. She met a considerable resistance. She nudged again for her to give up her one pressure point. She made her unwind her leg and the skirts. The leg heavily drew away from her own leg and waist and sunk onto the floor. An advantage given up.  
Angella rearranged her sitting position to something more stable. She tucked the succesfully removed leg under her.  
This already felt safer than to lie on her.  
Angella straightened herself, sitting on Shadow Weaver. Sitting on a hive of demons? What was the collective noun for dark magic demons? A murder? Her hands rested warmly on Shadow Weaver's abdomen. A dangerous enemy.  
Still no comment on her actions.  
Angella smiled at her, so softly, secretly proud of herself, not even directly looking at her.  
She let a hand drift slowly from Shadow Weaver's neck, over her chest, heart, then back to her stomach.  
Still no suggestive comment.  
She had expected her to make one, if not several.  
But then... as Angella suspected her guest's loaded threats were not to be taken seriously. They did not amount to anything real. She had nothing to fear.  
She waited.  
She circled her hand over Shadow Weaver's dress.  
She felt stronger, on top of things, was the expression her mind offered. It was bubbling, drunk on kisses. Not ready to let go.  
This interceded escape attempt felt soft. Straddling her was far better, she had more balance, more comfort, this felt... like something more tender.  
She would welcome the rich tones of her voice. It would be a comfort to know she was all right.  
Only, Shadow Weaver wasn't even moving. She watched the hands beside her. The sorceress did not stir them again.  
Angella looked on the mask. It looked back at her, had done all this time, unmoving. The body was kept immobile too.  
There would be no comment.  
Her captive was not to be moved to further act out her claims when they were this close. Naturally.  
Her silence was disquieting. All of Shadow Weaver was disquieting, it is who she is. She is not supposed to feel this nice.  
It would calm Angella to hear her voice even if it was to make some improper allusion that she could then refute. Their balance would be restored.  
It would be over then. Just speak and let this be over.  
The touching and clinging couldn't last.  
The danger was over?  
The diversion was over?  
The embraces were over ..and...that...was...for ...the best?  
The woman had no magic, was trapped and just wanted out from her?  
She was trespassing upon her prisoner.  
Angella paled.  
She would have to stop touching her.  
And return to who she was in more mundane settings.  
Shake off her folly.  
The queen took in the way her hair fell, looked into her face. The mask gazed back. The void of her eyes.  
Who would want to look in those?  
The motionless demoness.  
Shut off. No way back to before.  
Only a shell...all out of kisses.  
But she wanted...

Angella snapped out of it. She ceased her dwelling caresses. Another farewell?  
Then looked Shadow Weaver straight in the mask.  
Shadow Weaver really had thought this would happen sooner.  
There it was now, belated. A sobering look at her. There was sadness. Disappointed even, though well-cloaked. She believed she was good at reading people, but Angella was hard to interpret, especially in this mood. Whatever mood that was, it had turned painful to watch. This was not nicest of moments for Shadow Weaver.  
The colour drained from Angella's face.  
She did not want to be here anymore. She shifted beneath the queen. 

Angella flung herself forward.  
She looped an arm under her curved back, bent over her as to scoop her up. Her hand put a blissful pressure on her back.  
She was not to be her ragdoll.  
An unlikely, almost unShadow Weaver-like sound left her lips. Something between a cry and a moan.  
Something loud, to her own ears. She felt her face grow red in alarm.  
Angella loosened her hold. Her arm stayed closed around her.  
The queen leaned into her neck, pressing her face deliberately into her scarf.  
"Forgive me?" A suddenly awake Angella pleaded, most unconvincingly, as one already forgiven.  
Angella shook her head in the hollow of Shadow Weaver's neck, hiding, as if she were the one embarrassed.  
Shadow Weaver felt her repeatedly shake her head in disbelief of her own miscalculations.  
"I was convinced you were escaping." The tone in which she spoke to her... as if she was a very very VERY different person.  
She was near-giggling. A panic reaction?  
Angella's lips tingled against her ear as she spoke. Lips to ear, she made brushed touches, like kisses.  
Those probably were kisses.  
Shadow Weaver could barely see Angella's face from this close, her head next to hers. Blurred vision and the rims of her mask obscuring her view.  
She felt Angella play with her hair, which swirled, tragically without movement, next to her on the floor.  
The queen's face dug in deeper to her neck. Extra carefully.  
Shadow Weaver didn't want to move. 

Blanketted once more by the queen, she opted to stare before her.  
Her heart-made darkness swirled, unquestionably moving, in on itself, gently freeing her from their choking hold.  
She did not attempt to caress Angella's hair, in revenge or to level the balance, the situation was quite beyond fixing that.  
Angella offered her the hand which previously caressed her hair. Shadow Weaver took her hand.  
Angella, ever well-mannered, helped her up to her feet.  
The queen looked her over.  
She took one, then both of her hands in hers.  
"You are not hurt, are you?" she asked politely.  
"Not as far as I am aware." Shadow Weaver managed, knowing full well that if she truly was hurt she would, because of the shock, not feel it until later.  
Angella held Shadow Weaver's hands together, as to ensure she would not release any magic before the queen exited the circle.  
The touch left her.

Angella's gaze glazed over as she looked for where Casta stirred herself to consciousness.

Shadow Weaver saw herself reach out her hand to Angella.  
Or more accurately, put her hand out to Angella, awkwardly. Grabbing or snatching her arm was not an option. Certainly not if she hoped to get away with this.  
Angella saw that hand.  
Shadow Weaver retracted her hand hastily.  
There were no more words either of them could think of.  
Angella graciously turned from Shadow Weaver. In a deep resolute calmth. 

She should have remembered CastaSpella sooner.  
She knelt beside her. In concern, to tend to her, a model of a good friend and capable leader. sw not watch, nor blot out her voice  
"Spella, take your time. I am here. Let's get you out of here and seen to."  
Angella tucked her own hair back behind her ear like she had vital magic stored there. She did not look straight at Shadow Weaver again.  
Shadow Weaver could not block her voice out if she wanted to. She did not stop watching her.  
"Put your arms around my neck."  
Casta did so without a word, Angella lifted her, flew to the door.  
There was the dim pounding of guards. That must have been going on for a while. Shadow Weaver suddenly became aware of the overpowering noise.  
A burst of light opened the door. Angella leaved in her white light. CastaSpella in her arms.  
Shadow Weaver stayed, standing.  
She does not hear Angella and CastaSpella leave.  
Part of her has not even noticed when Angella's hands let go of hers.  
The door shut.  
It feels as if every guard had come barging in.  
She stood stifly, averted her face from the door, face flushed.  
She turned her back to the door, to not let the absent women address her.  
She is starved for Angella's touch and can't think of anything else now.  
You should go, she tells Angella in her mind.  
She crouched down. 

\-----

Hey wait... didn't Shadow Weaver knock-out CastaSpella in the Mystacor episode too? Ha, bonus points for Shadow Weaver. 

Silly comparison: this Shadow Weaver is like Mimikyu: "enjoys being cloaked in Darkness" and just wants hugs really. 

Readers, there is all this death in my inbox. I am not dying and not letting you die, okay, you are all under my protection. We are getting through this. Take good care of yourselves. We will meet here many times yet.


	30. Chapter 30

The queen reflects:  
\---------------------------

Angella tore off her gloves and threw them down on the floor.   
She closed the door to her chambers behind her. She stalked over to her desk. She needed some time to herself. She was fond of her privacy. At times she had been told she was overly fond of her privacy and really should come out into the public more. However, she saw no point in this. Her comfort came first. She performed best on her own, at her own pace, even when under pressure. She had more than enough obligations to "be among the people" for and she fulfilled them with zeal and to perfection. If very tiredly and quite fed up with any needless addenda.  
She ought to remind CastaSpella of this characteristic of hers. However well-natured her intentions were of leaving notes upon her personal desk, Angella would soon be feeling out of sorts with such a level of familiarity being bred between them. Yes, she should tell her to place any remarks upon a desk in the study. It was a silly, but a necessary precaution to think of.  
She shook her head. A mere half an hour after Casta could have died and she was criticizing her again. This made her case even clearer, if she wished to keep a level head about these happenings she should respect her own desire for solitude.

She had taken Casta to her medics. The sorceress-in-charge, before she let their extremely dangerous and only prisoner run away with her senses, had without trouble or lasting damage returned to said questionable senses. Angella had kept her occupied for a great while longer after they both passed their medical tests. Tests requested-commanded by queen Angella.   
She had her sister-in-law examine her repeatedly for any traces of shadows or other lingering forces. She had been very insistent.   
CastaSpella had seemed restless to talk, but Angella did not let her. She next ordered her, just as dicisively, to wait until she knew exactly what to say. Casta was prone to drama and in spite of the rush of survival the Leader of Mystacor undoubtedly felt she knew Casta needed to rest. They would talk extensively about everything that needed to be talked about in a few hours.   
Having enforced these rules, Angella excused herself and retreated to the safety of her room where she could finally take some time to herself and her thoughts.

She waved her hand over her reports. Those would keep. Official documents could wait. This one time.  
Once she knew the entire truth of what had occurred she would fill in today's reports. She would be pressed for time in the evening, interrogating her sister-in-law and possibly their prisoner, stay up late at night to work, so be it.  
She let her fingers go near her mouth. Pressed the skin there.   
The kitchen would have Shadow Weaver's meal ready in a few hours. She could order one of the guards to slide it in. She did not yet knew if she was prepared to carry it in herself.   
She would not have the sorceress think their security was so weak or their work ethic so lax that one stunt of hers could so easily disrupt Bright Moon's whole schedule. Angella's personal schedule, Angella's personal perseverance.   
Their prisoner will have noticed that Bright Moon did not have a response to demonic disasters/attacks and the queen had not been terribly well-prepared to an approach quite so personal.   
This would not happen again.  
Her hands perused the records of the shadow sorceress using people, harming them, both on a whim and in harshly calculated situations. Murder, rampage, cold wars, white hot angry affairs directed at a single person, deceptions, espionage, that butchering of body and soul which Adora had called training,...  
She closed the records again. Angella placed a pensive hand under her chin.  
She looked within the mirror. She was calm.  
Frightfully calm. How could she be so resigned in this? Was she resigned? No.  
She was glad.  
At not having lost anything, anyone.   
At having received...

She set about removing her jewellery.  
There was not a mark on her. She scrutinized her neck and chest, not a scratch. She remembered not being able to breathe or get up. It had hurt and she had wanted nothing so much as to cry. Something had attacked her. Something that was Shadow Weaver and maybe not Shadow Weaver. It had not felt 'evil'.   
If those had been ... demonic powers ... if they were inside of her... they had not tampered with her emotionally or mentally, not in that moment and not afterwards. Physically it had suffocated, nearly killed her, to take them in. They could not take hold of her Light. They could have killed her. Until Shadow Weaver cleared that fog and opened a new path for her to go.

She took off her earrings. She had not made up her mind yet if wearing her powerstones around the prisoner was wise or not. She weighed all the stones in her hand. They had not a smidgen of power left. Their powers had saved her. Likely. Their power was linked to the Moonstone. The Moonstone was tightly tied to her. Shadow Weaver could not break that connection or steal it. However... if anyone could...   
Not one of the stones was missing, not one taken away from her. Angella theorized this to be uncharacteristic of Shadow Weaver. Not to try and take her power while she was down. Perhaps she had tried. There had been too little time to draw out the stones' power and have them to take refuge in her. Bright Moon's Light could not be forced and would certainly not be persuaded by one who possessed such a dark core.   
It was not the stones she was trying to persuade, Angella reminded herself, it was you. And you were not so strongly opposed to her touch and guidance. But she stopped. 

She put the stones in a small chest.   
She was softly smiling. Thoughtfully.  
Angella whispered: "She was sweet when I held her, kissed her, when I sought to lengthen what madness we shared."  
She sighed. "Oh, my Love, " She drew her hand over Micah's journals. "how should I proceed?"  
By doing what she had to do, of course, always that. What she had to do for the safety of her land. Continue her tasks, see to the criminal's meals, her hygiene, her books,... Day in, day out. Night in?  
"I have no deep affections for her."  
Angella tried to glare at the gloves, angrily, as before when she threw them off, at having touched her charge, at having let her charge touch her. At letting Casta be lied to with some caster-fib to force her to do 'something to be filled in later', that lead to very nice embraces.  
"And she holds none for me."  
Whatever Shadow Weaver had done, she must have orchestrated it very thoroughly because she had done it so very smoothly that it was difficult for Angella to feel guilty about any of it.   
She was not angry. Except for not having thought of helping Casta sooner. 

Shadow Weaver, scandalised by the queen. Some good may have come from this.   
If she truly were startled and not just taking in the view.   
Would it be bad luck to speak her name? In front of a mirror? By herself?  
She watched her lips, the skin there, to check if she could see their kisses. There was only a smile, in a subdued enthusiasm, it was fading slowly, she permitted herself as much as a smile, and quite happily she stood up to pick the gloves back up.  
Angella sank into her chair behind her desk. She tucked her pen into her hand.  
She drew her own old journals up from the pile and wrote for hours.  
The soft smile never left.


	31. Chapter 31

Let's mess with Casta round 2... or is it 3?  
I don't know, I have so many of these in my notes.   
\------------------------------------

Shadow Weaver woke in the middle of a deep sleepy moan.  
"Angella," she said, sensing someone present. "pass me a blanket, will you?"  
"I hadn't realized you could be so polite. Has Angella trained you or is it a charming new facade you are trying out? You sound almost nice."  
CastaSpella. Shadow Weaer did not turn to meet her.  
She lay curled up on the floor.  
"It is cold here." she lamented bitterly.  
Not sounding so chummy anymore.  
"I opened the windows. The room needs to breathe. The air was putrid in here, must be you. Anyway, I am staying as long as they are open."  
"Do you really think insulting me is the best course of action for you to take now?" Shadow Weaver threatened, only to have a rolled up blanket flung in her direction. The blanket missed the circle. CastaSpella chased it and re-flung it, hitting her full on-in the chest.  
Shadow Weaver cleared her throat.  
"Where is Angella?" she narrowed her eyes, observing CastaSpella more closely.

"Does your queen know you are here?"  
"She sent me here." CastaSpella lied. She was not about to tell her that Queen Angella had locked herself up in her room, that she had not seen her in hours and that she had no idea of her further plans. "You will have to make do with me for a while."  
"For how long?   
I will not stand being supervised by another."  
"You will have to."  
She watched CastaSpella fidged with a couple of cushions for a while.   
"Do you hear me? I am not allowing another to bring me a washing bowl." She paused for a spell. "How is she?"  
CastaSpella was not as talented at ignoring her. Shadow Weaver could see her fear creeping up her spine as she arranged the cushions on one of the chairs and drew a small low table closer to it, creating a sitting corner.  
Shadow Weaver sighed, no longer patient with this pupil. "I am not asking much, now, am I? I have ways of making you tell me."  
"I underestimated how attached to Angella you are. How many more times are you going to mention her?"   
"As many times as I have to."

Oh, of course, she wished to play on Casta's trembling devotion to the 'higher authority'. As if she, a treacherous prisoner, could snitch on CastaSpella not being a good force in their enterprise. This was the way of the Horde. This was not how Bright Moon worked.   
CastaSpella was certain of her place. She knew it was honestly deserved and so did the queen she worked with. She had no fear for her reputation. She was not scared of Angella. She looked up to her. They did not often agree, but they knew what each did was good. Besides, they were family too. Their bonds were strong. CastaSpella was a certainty to Angella. An underappreciated but undoubtedly heartwarming certainty. 

The Mystacor sorceress did fear Shadow Weaver. But not half as much as when she still had powers.   
So Shadow Weaver was going to try to climb up, slime her way up to the top, parasite and heel licker, suck-up, teacher's pet, Angella was not going to fall for that. CastaSpella knew Angella too well. Those who tried to befriend her or influence her with lofty words, fell flat on their faces. They often came to her asking for advice, because they felt Angella already pulling away. Damn if she knew how to help.  
Angella was a detached, silent person in social circles. She did not notice when someone tried to draw nearer to her, as a friend or with the hopes of more. Maybe she only made a move if it was someone she wanted, maybe she never bothered at all.   
CastaSpella had not yet been able to give useful advice on the matter. It would help if she knew how Angella and her brother once got together. It was a mystery to her how this came to pass. By the time the queen was introduced to her they were already in love, unseperable friends with the clear prospect of marriage before them. 

If Shadow Weaver was waiting to be granted special priviliges because they all made it out alive because of her, she would stay here for a long time still. She thought she had proven herself in a crisis? What twisted gratitude would that be. None Angella would act on.  
Angella knew to pick safe company.   
"Your position would have been mine, had I not decided to pursue greater goals."  
That punched Casta hard enough to make her feel a fool.   
Still, she retaliated "Your change of career aside, if you did stick around, clearly you would have found another way of getting yourself disgraced. You would have messed up and angered and frightened everyone, including your superiors, into exiling you by something just as awful, something, like using this spell you set me up for! You had me do your 'dirty work'..."  
"And you couldn't even do that..."  
"and I will not be blamed for it."  
Maybe Shadow Weaver's truest, greatest talent lay in always making the wrong decision, destroying possibilities for herself and the world around her.   
"You ruined our reputation even more."   
Shadow Weaver thought she could make Angella like her? Release her? Elevate her to some vital function within the Rebellion? Fine, let her think that and chase an impossible aspiration.  
Angella won't let you.  
"What makes you think you have proven yourself a great sorceress with this muck? You are not an addition to our army."  
"You barely have an army, and I am the most accomplished sorceress alive. I am a thousand times more capable than you. I know everything about the machinations of the Horde. Fine, if you think you don't need..."  
"Angella doesn't like you." scoffed Casta. The queen will never use someone she can't trust. "You ruined our reputation even more."  
"Our?" She could practically hear an interested eyebrow lift.  
"She looks down on sorcerers. Hadn't you noticed yet?"  
"I suppose I have..." Shadow Weaver began, encouragingly, prying for more information.   
"She is an immortal angel." Stand-off-ish and sullen. CastaSpella never understood what her brother saw in her but they were devoted to each other from the start, loving, each other's everything, everlasting companions, always talking together. "This war took her husband and you tortured her daughter."  
"Yes, I haven't forgotten."  
"You can't count on a whole lot of respect from her. Why would she confide in you? She hates you."  
"There is no need to make this so personal, just because she does not, correct me if I am wrong, see what a precious asset you are. The case is, I fail to see how you fluffy Bright Moon folk are preferable allies to her."  
Shadow Weaver crossed her arms.  
"We don't launch demonic exploding forces entities in her face."  
"This wouldn't have been a problem if I could have done the spell."  
It probably would have been. Her demons would not let go. 

Someone rapped on the door.  
CastaSpella hurried to open it. One of the guards passed her a full-looking tray. A pot, cups, cake.  
"Is that... tea?" Shadow Weaver asked, finally sitting up properly.  
She found at her feet, alread pushed into the circle, a pile of books. Sappho on top.   
She would have flunked and punished any recruit for not noticing someone come into the room and place something down right beside her.   
How did she sink this low?  
She watched CastaSpella arrange the tray on the low table. She put Shadow Weaver's old spell book on the tray. That is why she came snooping back in here. To remove evidence from the crime scene. How sneaky. Miss Mystacor sought to conceal the level of her involvement. Which must mean Angella was allright.  
"Is this a bribe?"


	32. Chapter 32

"No."  
"No, you are here to cloack your traces. And beg me not to 'tell mummy' how badly our spell went."  
If CastaSpella was ashamed of the part she played in this mess, all the better.  
"Our spell?! Stop talking to me like I am your accomplice."  
"Oh, but you are... You started it... tell me more about 'our reputation'?"   
"Look here, you are not getting everything you asked for." Angella would give her nothing of this, but she need not know that. "I am not here to cater to you."  
"You are pampering me."  
"This is not pampering! It is not for long anyway."  
"A few days?"  
CastaSpella steeled herself. "If needed." It would drive her crazy.

"This is to shift your focus from observing and targetting us. Books to distract you. Since you urgently needed something to alleviate your boredom and keep your mind occupied."  
Shadow Weaver looked on her pile of books again. She would dive on them if she were in private.   
She found no objection to having her circle cluttered up with diversions.  
"You are already outshining Angella."   
Casta knelt down. She placed a saucer and tea cup through the circle. Shadow Weaver clawed for her tea.  
She was not someone who could seduce Angella. Casta wondered why she had believed Shadow Weaver could ever tempt the queen. She had been so scared. Shadow Weaver had sounded so persuasive. She had walked right into the trap.

"Does Angella often call upon you for help?" Shadow Weaver asked, judging by the happiness in her voice she was dreaming of a scenerio in which she was indeed in CastaSpella's robes.  
Angella again.   
"Doesn't she need lowly sorceresses?"  
"No. She perceives us as hobbyists." CastaSpella replied, begruntled. "After Micah she is quite impossible to impress with our craft. That is not a challenge." she quickly added. "She ignores we exist, or just lets us to our 'doodles'".  
"She seemed interested in mine."  
CastaSpella's lips thinned in amusement.   
"I saw her refuse you."   
"Oh really?" A deceitful, mellow tone. It did not invite further conversation.

There were many things Casta could not throw in the sorceress' uncaring face. Mask. Though she wanted to. She dared not.   
She had first thought Shadow Weaver's comment on watching the moons' light together to be sarcasm.  
She had sounded shy when she woke.  
The reports stated she had requested for Angella to read her bedtime stories.  
She had seen her hold her hand out to Angella when she exited the circle.  
Shadow Weaver trusted Angella.  
Redundant energies from a burst of juvenile powers resulting in physical urges, my foot. What they summoned, what Shadow Weaver had sought to expell, demonic for sure, had certainly not look as though they consisted of anyone else's powers. Not even partially.  
The dark and black as ink came out of her. Not She-ra, impossibly She-ra.  
She craved contact, company, as she always did, and was seeking to build this up with Angella. According to the reports Angella had cut this short every time.   
Shadow Weaver intentionally had not let her darkness tear the queen apart.  
Maybe it was for the best that Angella was who she was was. The unintentional heartbreakster.   
The beauty who does not easily return affection. It scares her off.  
Angella would only make Shadow Weaver's loneliness worse.   
And if Shadow Weaver clung to her because there was no other, she would find herself forever outmanouvered by Angella's desinterest.  
She would have to give up on her scheming ways.  
It amazed Casta how well this could go.   
She was not going to warn her.

Shadow Weaver cradled her tea.   
Praying for it not to go cold too soon.  
CastaSpella was not leaving. Her tea party included two more cups on the table. They were expecting Angella.   
"Have I frightened her away?"

"Is the question too difficult for you?"  
"Frightened her? When you flung demons at us? You haven't even apologised to me yet.  
She was so upset she made me scan her completely to see not a fragment of you could reside within her, as in infection. I had to check her face and lungs most. She thought something vile may have clawed into her. She had me do all kinds of tests to see what evil you planted in her.  
This was her reaction to your mere touch."  
"Touch?"  
"She expects me to explain. She asked as soon as I woke and I could not tell what you forced on her. I found no trace of it nor of the spell you used to undo its effect. I checked so many times. Angella relies on me to know the magic you performed on her to make that ball of demon-you disappear."

"You need me to explain my act of saving her to you?" Shadow Weaver asked archly.   
"She said you poured something down her throat."  
"Yes," Shadow Weaver sighed, "my tongue." 

She blissfully opened her eyes to sample Casta's shock and outrage. There was another who had joined them.  
"Shadow Weaver." Angella greeted cooly.   
Her prisoner quickly rose to her feet, having put the tea cup down and tried to shield it behind her robes.   
Angella had seen the tea.  
"You can keep the tea. You can also stop boasting."


	33. Chapter 33

Shadow Weaver instantly hovered towards Angella.   
"Dear Casta feared you would not make it." Shadow Weaver spoke, almost in disbelief herself.  
The queen's lips pulled together in a thin expression that could have been comical, if Shadow Weaver knew her better and knew what it meant.   
"Casta should be resting." The queen stated, not taking her eyes off Shadow Weaver. She looked for her lips to rest her gaze on, but of course there were no lips to look on. 

"The magic you used... when I intervened, was it a dark spell?"  
"Yes." Shadow Weaver spoke softly, composed.   
"And how you solved the situation was that, also, dark magic?"  
"No." That sounded almost apologetic. "I used no magic on you." She spoke as if only the queen was present to hear her, yet she could not lift her eyes to meet hers. "What I did was necessary to bind off the spell that your interruption left unfinished and you were foolishly taking into yourself. I" She took a breathe. "needed to guide the forces back."   
She was waiting for a kind of approval. That did not arrive. 

CastaSpella did not enjoy looking at this. Shadow Weaver's continued lingering, gravitating to Angella, standing as close to the borders as possible and staying there. The dark sorceress tried to impress a calmth upon the room, CastaSpella could tell as much by the way she stood. Still and straight, those slim arms held beside her, the hands held together. Exuding infinite patience. An obvious lie. Her mask always glowering.  
Something always, frightfully, off about her.   
Shadow Weaver's arm gestured towards her. "She brought us tea." Shadow Weaver offered, graciously. Better to floant her tea now than hide it. She did not bother to turn or look in Casta's direction. Casta was not her focus. Only a diversion.   
She was standing so close to the queen, beside her as a trustee. Her stance, if not her attitude, alone sent cold creepy chills down Castaspella's spine.  
Casta wondered if the demoness was perhaps expecting a pat on the head for almost damning them all.


	34. Chapter 34

Angella did not walk to the small table CastaSpella had prepared and did not take her cup up now.  
"With all respect for this interrogation, Casta..." Shadow Weaver started, with an unmistakable 'she did it, she should answer for her actions' attitude, even if her tone was somewhat subtler, subdued, shy than usual. "is more fit to answer your questions. It was her spell." She was used to delegating unpleasant news to whimpering idiots and have them thus sign their own deaths. "This circle and all magic involved is her responsability. She instigated the spell. Her iniative and decision. Besides she...tells it better than I do." Every sentence Shadow Weaver spoke felt more draining to her than the former. Why should talking feel this way when she truly wished to converse with the queen and was far more interested in hearing from Angella how she was faring than anything else in the world.

"Liar! You slimy liar!"   
Now Shadow Weaver briefly turned to notice CastaSpella. She was not used to her cannon fodder talking back at her.   
Outspoken underlings were a bother.  
Casta opened her mouth most eagerly to straighten out the facts for her. A dreadful sensation crept up on Shadow Weaver. It was a mistake to operate on this tactic here. CastaSpella would expose her every secret to Angella.  
But Angella hushed CastaSpella with a soft look and saved Shadow Weaver's face. 

"Let me hear it from you."   
"Angella?" Shadow Weaver's head snapped quickly back to her prey, fearing she had lost her when not having watched her for a second.   
Inquiring to Angella's health and opinions on their morning should not weigh this heavily upon her.  
"What happened?" Angella asked, as if sensing Shadow Weaver's inability to provide her with an answer.   
Casta looked at their silence. It felt almost like they were agreeing on...something hidden.   
Quite probably on not mentioning what awfullness the spell had put them through.  
If what Shadow Weaver had stated about the tongue was true, CastaSpella reflected, Angella did not look very affected by it. Their standfast queen. She felt oddly proud of her.

"Then this should suffice." replied Angella, startling Shadow Weaver, she turned to her sister-in-law. "I had hoped to discuss this with you in private. Yet I arrive to find this meeting had begun without me. I appreciate you making tea ..." Angella never held a meeting without providing tea for everyone involved. CastaSpella knew this, had been prepared. "I am not going to have this discussion in front of a prisoner. We" she emphasized the word. Her and Casta. "will continue this conversation presently in private, as I intended."  
Shadow Weaver was frustrated to discover she was not considered an integral source of information to Angella.   
Shadow Weaver did not move, but an urgency came upon her. She wanted very badly to be noticed, and not to be noticed. To remain in Angella's vicinity. 

Shadow Weaver watched the tray Angella was holding, her impeding dinner lurking upon it. Angella held out the tray more pressingly. The tray Shadow Weaver had been willfully ignoring so far. Shadow Weaver's gaze travelled over the gloves to up Angella's arms.   
"I am trying to give you your food. Can you for once not make this difficult?"  
Shadow Weaver took the smallest step back, a formal retreat to receive the food. Silent.  
Angella pushed the tray out in front of her. Her hands crossed the barrier.   
Shadow Weaver gently held Angella's hands.   
Trailed them up to her wrists, as far as she could reach, looking to try and pull her in closer, Angella did not give in.   
"Are you feeling allright?" Shadow Weaver asked, tentatively, as if she would tend to Angella herself had anything gone wrong. A strange thing to imagine, CastaSpella thought.   
So invested in her usual caretaker. Happy to see her. Close to her, soft and speaking only to her. Blatant manipulation that Angella was not prone to fall for.  
Shadow Weaver lowered her hands to Angella's again, holding, before sliding from them and extracting the tray.  
Casta had fallen away, reduced to a distant, familiar slurping in the background that would not let Shadow Weaver forget about the tea waiting for her to be drunk.  
She set the tray down beside her. Not prioritizing food.  
"It has not harmed you?" Angella asked.  
"No. It couldn't possibly."  
"The forces that attacked you are a part of her." CastaSpella interrupted.   
Angella looked between the two sorceresses.  
"Yes." Shadow Weaver answered her questioning gaze.  
"Where is it now?" CastaSpella spoke up once more. "Tell us clearly, where did your alive-and-well dark forces go?"  
"Back inside me." Shadow Weaver hissed at her.  
"Nothing changed? What is the state of your problem?" CastaSpella inquired.  
"As before." Shadow Weaver admitted, displeased. She had perfected her 'stand close and not look at the queen' look. She only answered because the queen was near and this meant she felt compelled to.  
"The same?"  
"The exact same."  
She could almost hear the self-righteous 'good' Casta was no doubt thinking.  
At least Angella did not look on her with pity, or so she hoped.  
"You are certain these shadows cannot turn against you? If it sickens you to take them back, we must know. Keep me informed."  
Shadow Weaver's health was important to Angella. Their first prisoner. She had the impression Shadow Weaver had a reputation of neglecting her own health.  
"I would have my tea now." Shadow Weaver said, practically waving them out of the way. Not in a rude gesture, an elegant one, that showed she had important things to do. Tending to her tea.  
"Of course." said Angella.

Angella held her tea cup, with every intention of walking out. CastaSpella took up the tea tray with the book of spells.  
"Shall I close the curtains for you?" Angella asked out of a sudden considerate instinct.  
Something about her, this, everything, made Shadow Weaver suspicious.  
"Oh would you be so kind?" she sneered.   
And so, Angella did not do it.

Disgruntled Shadow Weaver went to lie down again, placing her tea before her.   
Angella walked past, throwing a disapproving look at the pile of books. She kept herself from vocally lamenting her lack of authority.  
She was not in the mood to drink the tea in her hand. She put her cup on the floor before Shadow Weaver and let her have it.   
Casta walked out with the tea tray, Angella left with Casta, she could hear Angella talk with Casta.  
She was left with tea.  
She looked at the two teas before her.

\-----------  
Gosh Casta, let Shadow Weaver spend some time with her new girlfriend, she is awkward enough about it as is.

Ugh where is my smut? I ordered smut ages ago! I'd better have it by next month!  
Anyway, another Casta and Angella conversation coming up next and after that... cuteness.


	35. Chapter 35

"I told you not to give her books." Or use your powers, with the exception of circle check-up. Or talk with her. Or credit a word she says. This was hopeless. Angella walked the corridor next to CastaSpella. "It was repeated in yesterday's report."   
"Well, I haven't read that yet. I was in a hurry."  
"I thought you were at Mystacor."  
"Emergency. We had to do something."   
"You gave her the exact works she desired. I was going to give her books, ones I deem safe. I was already assembling a pile on my desk."  
"Should I have looked and taken them from your room then?"  
"Most certainly not. This is an official mission, just like any other." CastaSpella was so annoyingly good at being intrusive and when it mattered most, when they had to speak and Casta was going to tell her more, Angella found her in the forbidden room consulting with Shadow Weaver first! "We are holding a prisoner to secure the safety of the girls, of the realm. You can't just run in and do as you please."  
"I agree." Angella raised her eyebrow in concern. "We are a team. You can't veto everything and hope nothing ever changes. You can't will time itself to stop for your convenience. She is getting more agitated and one day she will explode."  
Angella tried not to point out how silly it sounded to compare a woman to a bomb.   
"You should have consulted me. For... everything. We can't 'wing' this. We need clear rules, clear communication, in letters and words, meetings conducted in the conference room when you can be here in person. This is teamwork. We are responsible for each other's actions. And I need you to keep a distance. Casta, I am not letting you near her again." She looked on Castaspella with genuine soft concern. She did not want to experience the guilt of another loss.   
CastaSpella took in the queen's 'council' with a wry look. She was going to let the information stew in her mind for a while. It was not like she wanted to ever talk with Shadow Weaver again.   
Part of CastaSpella had hopes of using Shadow Weaver, in time, for advice, to gain a tactical advantage due to her insights, her knowledge of the Horde, the creativity of her plans. She had not dared ask this Angella yet. It would be a hard NO. She had to put that hope to rest for a while. Casta airily rolled her eyes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Can you imagine having thát for your second in command?" She put the matter before Angella.  
"No, I can't imagine her as that."

\--------  
Ah, but the things she can imagine her as... ˆˆ


	36. Chapter 36

"Japping on on how much better she is than you, pushing you down like a bully," Casta flung herself down in one of the chairs of the conference room. Her tea tray in front of her, a napkin almost flew off the book she was hiding. "Pfff." She looked at her tea cup, found she had already emptied it, just her luck.  
Angella placed herself at the head of the table.  
CastaSpella continued:"And she has so few words to spare when she reports to the 'all-important in charge one'. Thanks for telling her off, by the way. She deserved that. Talking down to people like she is I-don't-know-what. The Empress of Void Sorcery.  
Not forgetting that whole 'I saved you' act she wanted to pull on you, I could see that one coming, fishing for special favours when she was the one, Shé" Casta repeated with great emphasis. "created the danger. Her loftiness is sickening. Everything was her damn fault! 'Oh Angella, I saved you, release me, I'll be ever so good to you. I got myself cursed and banished from the Frightzone, look at me. The pinacle of bravery, rationality and emotional stability.  
She is so different to you, creepy different."  
"She is just as mean."  
"Different. It is a disaster. At least she can't get away with such behaviour with you." Angella's unforthcoming nature had its upsides afterall. If she even noticed Shadow Weaver's damaging suck-up tendencies, she did not care and would not give in to her.  
They had elected the best guardian.  
Angella looked at her, refraining from making any comment. She did agree with her. She wanted to let her blow off steam.  
"She Really knows how to rile me up."  
"So I notice."  
"'Oh Casta'" Casta mimicked. "'I need help. My inner elements are out of line. Hurry before I kill everyone you love'"  
"She put you up to performing a spell for her. One which was certainly not a circle-check."  
"Bullied and pushed me into it. Yes, I'd say that."  
"She threatened you?"  
Casta nodded, ashamed and angry, most of all angry.  
"She scared me into doing her dirty deeds allright. She knows too well how to anger me."  
"Do not castigate yourself. I still need you to stay involved, but keep away from her. Return to Mystacor. Keep a clear head, advise me as I am 'in the danger zone'. I need you on the sideline."  
"She'll play with me when I am too close. She is too good at riling me up," Casta repeated. "but... I let her."  
Casta waited for the designated close-contact babysitter to speak. Angella did not know what to say to comfort her either.  
But CastaSpella wanted Angella to stay safely away from Shadow Weaver too. "She fed me some nonsense... about her health troubling her."  
"What was this 'nonsense?'"  
"It is... a sorceress thing..."  
"Tell me anyway."  
CastaSpella brought her hands to her chest as to illustrate the spell herself. "...removing cluttered energies from her system." CastaSpella hazzarded, she did not want to reprise the word 'horny' in front of the queen or the term maybe more appropriate to Shadow Weaver's sticky personality 'lustful.' "She spun it in a weird way. I am not certain what to make of it."  
"And this caused 'a part of her' to escape?"  
"Her being is not exactly... conventional so it turned hostile.  
The circle itself is fine, by the way, I did check, it should hold for months. I will try to come by twice a week. I can check again whenever you like."  
"Only with me present as well."  
"Deal. I do not want to be alone in a room with that one again. No speaking, no listening to her, you can count on me. I mean, you could before, I did want to do what is right." Castaspella slumped down a bit, ticking her teacup with her spoon. "I give up. Promise me something, Angie?"  
"What?"  
I don't want to leave you with her. You are the right person to be in full charge of this and as we can't risk letting me visit her any time soon. I know it is a lot for you to handle." She looked on her with an intensity usually reserved for final exams at Mystacor, party planning and niece-sitting. "If she scares you, in any way, however trivial, you get yourself out of there, or even if she does not scare you and that scares you, she will be up to something, so just leave. Leave the washing bowl, her dinner, the books, any reason you were there for. Get out. Okay sweetie? You are far more important than a broken down powerobsessed crabby old sorceress. I don't care if she escapes, or worse."  
"I promise."  
"...She treathened..."  
"She lied."  
"...you. It is difficult for me to tell you. Be careful. She implied something bad would happen or that she would take something bad out on you if I didn't ....she implied that it would fester."  
"A ruse to spurr you into action. She made up a problem to have a shot at corrupting you."  
"She didn't make it up. I believed her. Fed me Nonsense. Under a truth spell no less."


	37. Chapter 37

"Truth spells can be influenced." Angella spoke as a professor in sorcery herself. "They are surprisingly flexible, if you know the loopholes. She could still have told you the truth the way she wanted you to understand it. She lied. She provoked you."  
"What she said was outrageous, disrespectful. I had to use a truth spell, but still..."  
The queen held out her hands to hold Casta's. Castaspella almost had a small heart attack. This was not something Angella ordinarily did.   
"Casta,   
I don't want such a situation ever again. It was too close."  
"And if... she told the truth?" CastaSpella's voice trembled.  
"Well, hypothetically speaking ... you can get quite some leeway in a truth spell with your intention, in your wording, especially the verb tenses, you can exaggerate  
"She definitely did that." CastaSpella knew all these theories, but it comforted her to hear them.   
"Your mood can or even a self-induced mood can work wonders, you can displace one truth to another less relevant one, your own opinion can still colour your account of events, ..."   
Angella stopped herself from toying with Casta's hand. A ghostly smile on her face.  
"How do you know...?" She had thought Angella did not care for sorcery.  
"Micah..." she started, vaguelly. "Micah and I spent a night testing truth spells and figuring out what you can or cannot get away with. This game was very popular among students he told me."  
"Truth or dare." She felt CastaSpella's stare on her. She rarely spoke of these things. Her mind returned to the present, she smiled at Casta.   
"I miss him."  
"Me too."  
She released her hand.  
"After what happened this morning I can't stop thinking of him."

"She should keep her tongue where it belongs." CastaSpella weighed in.  
Queen Angella faintly laughed it off.  
"I am sure she made it sound all kinds of horrid evil to you."  
"Is it true she forced herself on you?"  
"It was just kissing. I Líke Kissing.  
But there is no reason for our prisoner to know that. I wanted to tell you this alone." She did put it off almost as long as this day permitted.

"I was not aware of anything distinct going on beyond the kissing. The moment when her dark magic collided with me already felt centuries ago. I did not want to let go. I thought she would break out if I ..."  
How long had they kissed? It felt like an eternity, in an all too nice way, judging by her own experience of it.   
"So... she kissed you and you thought you'd like to ... go on kissing her? Shadow Weaver?"  
"She hated it, so don't worry about it"  
Castaspella worried.  
Angella thought of when she pushed Shadow Weaver down and beheld her chest, her panicked breathing.  
"Wait, what, shé hated?"  
"Do you think it unsettled her?" Angella kept her voice level, but there was a blush on her cheeks when talking about a kiss. Any kiss.   
"It certainly did something."

"Humph."   
"What is it?"  
"It is clever and I hate it. A kiss. From a sorcery perspective, it is a brilliant idea. Ingenious!  
"How?"  
"Firstly it shows an uncommon amount of strength and lordship over her demonside to have her shadows release you, a fresh prey, and return to her. Admittedly, not much is known about what makes up a ...Shadow Weaver. But to conduct energies without having the powers to command them is ...something.  
So that is what happened.   
Angella was not exactly thrilled to have been used as a conductor.  
CastaSpella continued: "There are no spells known that require a kiss. Some sorcerers have tried to find one, but most in our craft are not that enthused about touching people. And it is thought to be unprofessional. We are more comfortable drawing in the sky. We prefer to strike from a distance and keep that distance. We do not get up close to the great powers we wield or throw our own bodies so readily in harm's way. We are not the touchy sort."  
Was that the royal 'We' of Mystacor? It did not fit Shadow Weaver, never had.  
"But it worked for her."   
"She has talent." CastaSpella hated to admit it. "An obscure higher feeling for magic and the demonic. She knows how to move and let forces flow, that is how she managed to tidy up her dark mess, extract it from you and push it back inside.   
That is my reading of it."

Queen Angella thought back on Light spinner, in charge of the smaller magicians, the ones who still needed more guidance, whose arms she would move into position. She could almost feel the air of the Mystacor courtyard and enjoy the spiderthread bright blue lines being drawn and broken by students and their teacher's voice...   
that same voice she overheard ....

"Who knew demonic forces obey a 8 second rule?" Casta went on. "We could learn from observing her. About the darker forces that our magic holds, about what the Spell of Obtainment does, about the demonscarred, subjects that touch the forbidden. Anyway, I want to punch her. Granting herself such allowances. Is there no sentence for kissing the ruler in office?"  
Angella looked confused.  
"We can add it to her list of offences but it would not make much difference."  
"She should be punished. She should get no food, no spoiling, have her gloating privileges revoked."  
"So the opposite of what you were doing?  
It would be barbaric and low to deny her food or clothes. Besides it makes us appear weaker for she will have succeeded in getting a reaction out of us. Covering her in gifts was ... not very sensible either..."  
"I had my reasons." Casta sounded scared again.  
"Being?"  
"Fears. Silly, unrealistic fears that she implanted. Fears of her problem returning. Persisting. As she said, if she can be believed, it is still there and I don't want it to grow worse. I was so angy. Am so angry. I don't even know."  
"Sleep on it. You can tell me in the morning, to the best of your ability what is wrong and what we know to be true and what we can do about the situation. Would you like to tell me ad verbatim? What Shadow Weaver said?"  
"I'd get sick and so would you. "  
"Deal?"  
"Deal." Casta admitted. "Now what?"  
"Now, I am going to pick up her finished dinner." Angella stood up from the table.  
CastaSpella shuddered again. Bah. Clingy Shadow Weaver.   
A great panic surged inside of her.  
"I can't let you back in there!" cried Casta, outraged.   
"Why?" Angella asked with a wafer of sternness.   
"You don't even care she tresspassed."   
"I care very much. There is no more we can do about it."  
"That is exactly the kind of fatalistic attitude she is counting on. She knows she can get away with anything eventhough she is our prisoner."  
"Casta, I am fine." Angella started as she opened the door. 

"Yo, Casta!" As soon a they stepped out of the room pink sparkles flew their way.  
"Glimmer!" She jumped around CastaSpella's neck for a hug. Sweet summer child.   
"Secret project, with Adora, we need your help presto."   
"Aye, aye, princess." Glimmer started dragging her away.   
"Bye mom."  
"I'll be filling in a lengthy report in my room. Glimmer, if you want to see me..."  
"Sure, mom."  
"Don't forget about your washing duty." Castaspella reminded.   
"Wouldn't dream of it."  
"She wouldn't have anone but you for that chore. She said so and she's stubborn. I bet she'd go filthy without you."  
Angella looked questioningly.   
"We are not putting that to the test. I should be presenting her with a new dress today."  
"Special day indeed."  
"Can I have a new dress too?" Glimmer piped up.   
Angella shook her head and walked back to Shadow Weaver's room, again. She considered a walk in the gardens after that, she could do with fresh air. 

\-----------------  
Luckily for Shadow Weaver, Casta is not too keen about the love possibility and reluctant to call the lust certainty by name.

Sole custody of Shadow Weaver goes to .... the Queen of the Castle.

Yo Casta is supposed to be a self-indulgend nod to the mythological figure of Jocasta, Odypus' mom. She is awesome. Her son is an idiot.


	38. Shadows

Okay show, the plan was simple:  
all the children already get along  
so it is just a question of getting good-Rebellion mom and bad-Horde mom together  
and everyone can be happy.  
Would you like to tell me where that plan went wrong?

Also, I can keep my Shadow Weaver face-descriptions for this story, hurray! :D  
In light -haha light- of the new season's face reveal it is going to look like she overreacts drastically, ... but she does the same in the show.  
Have you all recovered from the finale? (All my knowledge is online harvested, I have not seen the season in full yet, or the one before that. I am way behind.) 

Back to this story: Shadow Weaver is broken and disconnected here and cuddles are imminent  
by a Bright Moon-based Queen Angella in her proper dimension. 

Shadows is in shock because Angella was in danger and is now feeling scared and is not realizing this. Either that or she is suffering from withdrawl from being cut off from the Black Garnet's deep magic resources. Plus, she is embarrassed that her demons, actually all of her, love Angella. Which will not stop her from being smug about it.  
\------------------------------

Shadow Weaver stared at the huge panels of framed glass. The sky was too white without the drapes muffling its light.  
She looked on her tea cups and plate. Those had emptied themselves as she stared. She had seen her hand take up the cuttlery.  
She had eaten. Still she did not stop staring at the objects remaining.  
She could have a look at the books. Part of her was curious, she could do with the research. Dive in and work her way through them in a few hours. She was not in the mood. There was no room in her thoughts. 

She lied down down to stare at the ceiling instead.  
When Angella returned to collect the platter, she heard her wings rustle from a distance, she made sure she lay in a pose most natural to her. Leaning on one side, as royalty at a banquet, confident. Treasure displayed around her. 

"Not the sister-in-law, there is a relief."  
She could speak to her as long as she did not look straight at her. Explicitely knowing she wanted to bed her, or floor her if this room was to be the scene of her crime, made talking with her somehow feel slightly unusual and wrong. She was very ill-content about this.  
Neither spoke beyond that. 

Was it back to normal for them? With Angella catering to her? The Angella from that morning.  
A normal in which she knew what Angella kissed like.  
She would not want to be subjected to an outdated normal anymore.

She felt proud of the records she was setting as Bright Moon's first prisoner. They were a lot to live up to and she had not even attempted an escape yet.  
She trembled, as she had a few times since that morning.  
She could have attempted an escape. She could have let her darkness have Angella and see what she could do with her from there. Use her to step out of the circle. Let her be imbued with demons, with her. An opportunity, to plant dark magic in her and let her go.  
Her thoughts had been empty at the time. Not empty. Too greedy. Her efforts had all gone to the kiss.  
She had taken the safe route, or rather, the crisis rescue. She was good in a crisis. Exceptionally good when she had just charged herself on the Black Garnet. She shuddered again, she wrapped her arms around her.  
'At her best in a panic' had taken Angella and saved her life. 

She lay her head down on the floor again, looking up.  
She could not rest enough to sleep. Shadows don't sleep. She lay too still. She tried to move, hoping this would not make her more awake. She did not have trouble finding the right sleeping position back when her shadows would wrap around her, adjusting themselves to her every need, swirling her consciousness away from the outside world.  
Now they could not get out. They churned hungrily inside.  
For Angella.

They churned with her heart. Her powers were always frightfully, actually very usefully, in tune with her feelings. They catered better to her than people ever could.  
They want to be alone with the queen,  
to stop that blasted mortal heart from churning. 

It was a defence mechanism of course.  
Being in love with Queen Angella.  
It was growing worse.  
That was the real crisis.  
One she was not at all good at. 

Her phsyche and body were doing what they had to for her to feel better. Her desire to live fabricated this adoration of Angella. It was given to her as a lifeline, something hopeful to hold onto. She wished to establish a bond with another being in the immediate vicinity, reach out, feel attraction, in a time of power shortage and lacking a plan.  
To rouse her into action.  
Her powers favoured an instant gratification of their desires. 

It did not know any better.  
It did not know it was enforcing a weakness on her. Instead of a shining way out and back to power.  
She drew her leg up to kick the circle in annoyance. She let her foot stay there, placed right next to the barrier.  
She moved the other leg to hit the stronghold on the other side, she could not reach it.

Angella had left kisses in her neck, as far as she could reach.  
Her fleeting morning vision, with the pink halo of sparkle hair. She had held that hair, in her lap, run it through her fingers, had rested her hand on the back of Angella's head, cushioned on the soft stars.  
This Moon Queen.  
Could all mornings be like that?  
Best not. She was in daze. She could not live in a daze. Not here.  
This had not often happened in her life.  
She could deal with infatuated recruits in a variety of hard manners.  
Herself? No.

She could lie here and think of Angella who peppered kisses in her hair.

She did not want to wash her hair, or remove her clothes for those of another day, even if her visitor was Angella.  
She could make Angella see stars. There were none left in the sky but she could, even without her powers restored.  
She watched her own hair on the floor, her arm next to it. She had been held by those slender wrists as demons went for her heart, raked through her being as through paper, pushed, submerged her through and through, painfully wrapped around her, bit in her bones, tore her flesh and put it on.  
She'd lost her soul then too.  
It hadn't been at all like demons lunging for her. 

That morning Shadow Weaver had watched her hands be caught and pressed down. She was restrained by the wrists.  
Her body was terrified, petrified. Of course it had reminded her of the nightmare event, but Angella pressing her down was the opposite of frightening.  
Her all too frequently reoccuring nightmare had lots its bite in a real life repeat.  
Its negative had appeared.

Now she imagined it again. No shadows holding her, only Angella.  
The moment when the queen fell onto her. When what she had tried to expell, then reclaimed from the queen, rose back up in her, choking her again, taking her completely in its grip.  
Another possession. Irrevocable.  
She was brave enough to accept it. As she had the previous one.  
She had no choice. 

But... Angella had not dragged her back as she tried to get out.  
The screaming inside from wishing only to fight as unknown powers took over, had been absent.  
Shadow Weaver had let her, soft and pressing, explore and invade her to her core.

She had been very wrong in how she had judged Angella to kiss. She thought her kiss would be impersonal, ethereal, not really there at all. Not worth it.  
She kissed with hunger. Angella wanted kisses like air.  
She outmatched her own hunger  
and Shadow Weaver found she loved that.  
She was lovely. 

The unwanted monster inside of her that wanted to entangle with Angella and damn all else, was left content in Angella-of-the-morning's wake. It was not silent. It would rouse again, rear its needy head, which was currently after-basking in the received attention.  
It was irradiating Shadow Weaver with longing.  
To have Angella's hands in her hair and taste her.  
When having to kiss her,

Angella... enjoyed her. 

Shadow Weaver flamed to relive this.  
She was still reliving this. 

Happy kisses did not happen to her. People were too scared, with reason, and she did not give them the opportunity.  
She thought on how to return the gesture, if they were to do this morning again. 

As long as she was powerless, how much of this could she put on the menu?

\------------------------  
Ah Shadow Weaver, it is Queen Angella who decides the menu.  
Just ask her if you can eat her out?

Author overthinks: Can I use the word ethereal to mean 'heavenly' when their world is called Etheria and thus the word ethereal logically would just mean 'earthly', which is in fact the opposite, and that which she got and loves.  
Heck it, it is too pretty a word to avoid using.


	39. Misunderstanding

Here I go, to plung Angella from one awkwardly intimate conversation into the next.

Can you guess which chapter this is?  
-I should start adding titles to chapters.-

One day soon... Angella will be putting her extraordinary problem solving skills into actions.

I think of queen Angella as the sort of mom dries bushels of lavender from her garden to put between clean clothes to have them smell extra nice.  
\---------

Queen Angella took a lingering stray of dried lavender from the dress folded over her arm.  
She silently approached the door. 

No kissing the prisoner.  
She wears a mask, how difficult can this be?

Nigh impossible.

She was reminded of masked balls. How irrationally impossible it was for people there not to flirt. Herself excluded.  
She missed those. Should she bring them back into fashion? After the war. If there was to be an after.  
Perhaps she could then at last attend one without appearing an unapproachable immortal winged statue.  
Her own coronation had been a masked event. A celebration deeply overshadowed by the looming threat of the Horde.

Shadow Weaver lay on the floor, her head tilted dramatically back, certainly not asleep.  
Her legs spread, the knees lifted up.  
Her feet perched firmly, as in anger or determination, near the circle boundaries. Frustrated that all movement should fit within the circle. Her back stretched up, lamenting the lack of space.

Angella looked back at the open door. She estimated her chances of an unnoticed retreat.  
She made to exit the room.

"Why are you sneaking out?" 

Angella stood still, did not turn to her.  
"You seemed busy." she spoke, hushed, to camouflage her presence. 

The knees lowered, Shadow Weaver's eyes watched her haughtily and she lowered her head back onto the floor. Uncaringly. She was not bothered. She did not adjust her pose at all. 

Had the queen not embarrassed her enough for one day? 

Angella stood looking small and horrified. "Are you... well?"

"Rest assured, I don't want to do that here." she conversed, casually. "Not that I've had precious much else on my hands before today.  
I was deeply sunken in ennui before you started... making accusations."

"It was not an accusation."

"Not that I can blame you as to where your mind went."  
"Don't feel flattered."  
"Insulted."

Shadow Weaver turned her face to her and fell silent as Angella lay the clothes down in the circle.  
The sorceress pulled her limbs together. She crawled to the spot in front of where Angella had stood.  
Angella closed the curtains. She took and filled the bowl at the water feature.  
She neared her again, having placed the bowl in the circle, and went to stand straight-backed before her, queenly, rubbing her arms awkwardly. 

"I thought you would do what you wanted here, in that respect. It is your room." Her face had gone intensily serious. "I am not going to stop you. The guards would not stop you. You may if you want."

"Why grant me a luxury?"  
"It is not a luxury."

Angella brought the towels and brush next.

\---------

The Masturbation Misunderstanding has lift-off! ˆˆ

One of my favourite things of the gorgeous reviews I receive, are the offers of different directions this story could take. I love them all and wish I could work them all out. :3  
My tracks are set though.  
I am doing this as I thought it out half a year ago.  
I hope you'll enjoy it. 

AU in which Shadow Weaver or Light Spinner and Angella meet at her masked coronation.


	40. Chapter 40

I have too many notes on and versions of this part.  
Okay, I am making this babystep posts.  
\-----

Shadow Weaver sat on her knees, staying close to the edge, in a manner that struck the queenly as being singularly innocent. She had no more left to give today than her presence, which she could not make disappear. No more reaching, no more words.  
"We can plan it into your day schedule." Angella offered, helpfully. "It's the curtains being open isn't it? The light falling inside all the time, the impression that people could see you."  
Shadw Weaver did not respond.  
Angella considered. "I can supervise."  
The mask looked up, it did not look good like she was feeling well.  
"I can close the curtains before you eat and open them again after your washing. That way you will have all the time in between to yourself and you can clean up as soon as you are done."  
Shadow Weaver scraped her throat.

She sat up straighter. Curious creature.  
Gives her permission to take care of her own internal affairsers, so to speak. She would be present, right outside the door and for some reason a bed was still too much to ask for.  
"How does that sound?"  
"You have thought this through."  
"No, I haven't."  
Shadow Weaver was oddly charmed. Hated this.

"I'd rather hold dominion over my own affairs. You don't trust me with a single object. I want to take things up in this room and dispose of them in my own time. I want to have the freedom to watch and decide for myself. Your offer is meaningless."  
"We can't..."  
"And I am not going to besmirch your floor!"  
"The floor can be cleaned. Clothes too. Think about it?" She swallowed the 'please'. "I am not saying you have to." 

Angella cleared her throat. A far more pleasant thing to hear than when Shadow Weaver did the same.  
Shadow Weaver looked up to her eyes at the sound. She leaned against the barrier.  
This still working barrier that got to support her. Angella felt jealous of it.

Shadow Weaver silently placed her arms around her leg, holding it close.  
The sorceress watched the queen with no further comment or reaction.  
These pink eyes. All she wanted to do during these visits was to look on her.  
And she avoids to. 

The queen had gone silent.  
Her prisoner sat, small, in the circle. Distracted, disconnected.  
Angella felt concerned. She felt responsible if what troubled her was... this morning. It could hardly be anything else.  
The confronting, yet necesary intrustion on that face she guarded so well.  
She was not taking this well. Okay, it is rough on her, but you can't help her. Give her time.  
She is stuck, she will get out of it again, she will move again, just keep it in your mind. Take it into account. Help by giving time. There is no more I can do, or should do.

Shadow Weaver had not once reached out and tried to unsettle her in this conversation.  
She was growing smaller, curled up, holding her ankle.  
Angella had expected a 'come here' soft, entreating, as soon as she entered. So predictable.

"Do what you can." the queen said, pointing at the washingbowl. "I'll be right outside."  
"Angella?" pleading.  
She needed someone here to stay with her. She needed more than that. A touch.  
She had already requested Angella. She could ask no more. She could. She could experiment on making her stay in the room.  
She did not want to.  
Even requesting Angella felt like a rotten decision now.  
Any other would have been worse.

Shadow Weaver looked on the waterbowl. This was cleaner water than what she received in the Frightzone, even when filtered, for drinking.  
Angella left her to her washing.  
Angella could not leave her, in a small heap like this.  
She sat and could not wash her hair, her skin. That is why she asked for her, wasn't it, so she could do this. Remove the traces of this morning. She would have stubbornly refused to wash with anyone else.  
With Angella... With a new dress...  
She moved herself to wash, if only in the hope of getting a compliment out of the queen for trying on the new dress.  
As before. 

She wanted to keep the old one.

"Can I come in? Shadow Weaver?"  
"You can. "  
Shadow Weaver was sitting the same as before, huddled up against the rim of her circle. Sad?  
Her hair was dry, except for the end, that had brushed inside the bowl.  
It did not look as though her hair needed washing yet, that was fine.  
The used clothes were on the floor.  
"You have washed?"  
"Yes." Roughly. Hardly. The basic patches.


	41. Chapter 41

Angella reached for the discarded pile of clothes behind the barrier.

Shadow Weaver, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them, was not about to slide the dress over to her. Angella privately acknowledged that this evening's interaction was to be limited to seeing her in this most recent "dramatic pose", wishing her a 'good night' and 'until tomorrow' and leaving her alone again, like this. 

Shadow Weaver  
who did not even want the queen to know she now cherished this garment as her favourite,  
stretched her hand to it, to her, to prevent her.

The queen frowned.   
If the sorceress was starting up a new chain of close actions, soft touched attempts to pressure her, hands snaking further and further over her skin with each visit, closing in, to influence her, calculatedly cornering her, stretched over days, to test their resolve against one another,  
she was sick of it.

She was not a child to be bribed into affection this way.

Touching was fine, but she hated always having to be on the look-out for the next intentional moment of physical contact.

Angella withdrew her hand.  
She let Shadow Weaver pick up the used dress herself.

Shadow Weaver took the pile in her arms, then pulled herself up. It was important to her to present these to Angella while standing, as was proper. To be strong as always, there was not much to it. Just as she should be perfectly able to wash, especially if seeing Angella and possibly gaining a compliment was to be her reward.   
Hold and hand her her clothes. The precious dress did not matter.  
She did not want to go back to having to crouch and pass everything to her on the floor.

Angella observed the folded pile on Shadow Weaver's arms.   
The queen shattered whatever next touch-tactic Shadow Weaver might have in mind by grabbing  
quickly, too quickly, beneath the fabric for Shadow Weaver's arms.

She felt Shadow Weaver tense up again.  
Angella wanted to let her go at once. As to apologize. She could apologize to anyone else, but this felt not allowed around Shadow Weaver. A risk. She had caught her rather indelicately, rather too much by surprise. She had held her stronger than she had wanted to.  
She still had touches to apologize for. She could not apologize for unwanted touches with more touches.   
The clothes dropped to the floor.   
Shadow Weaver backed away in alarm.

Angella let go off her arms. She still held her at arm's length, by still holding one hand.  
Shadow Weaver's gaze already deflected from her.  
The sorceress blinked a few times, mentally preparing herself to never bring this moment up again.   
"Is this what is troubling you?" Angella asked. 

"Shadow Weaver?"  
Shadow Weaver was looking down, inspecting her released arm.  
Angella placed an arm around Shadow Weaver's waist instead. Let it rest there.  
Shadow Weaver's demonic energies at once ceased to be ravenous.


	42. Chapter 42

Shadow Weaver did not take a forceful step back. She was not stepping out of this situation without getting her compliment out of it.

She was not that tense, she would be less tense.  
Angella heard her regulate her breathing.   
So the queen talked of something else than taking her close.   
"Your new dress is made of a lighter fabric, that should help. We can make variations to your dress, if you like, if you plan on staying..."

Shadow Weaver stood before her, right against the barrier, seemingly having regained some control, she had released or taken on a strange aura of alure.

Angella's tone softened further as she spoke. "The tailor has your measurements. We could stay with the same basic underdress and colours and change the design."

Angella stroked the dress as if to sort out some big folds in the fabric, then smoothed out the creases.  
"Would you like that? The dresses?

And you could do with a few nightgowns. Those should be more comfortable."  
What would be next? A cloth sleep mask? Angella's more caring voice was doing a decent job of calming her. It had a lulling effect on her, almost convincing her to sleep, though she was very much awake and on her feet.  
Shadow Weaver did not move, she did not want this half-hug-something to stop.

Angella leaned into the circle, she wondered about something very trivial.  
Shadow Weaver noticed Angella's stare on her dress.   
No compliment yet, but her touch.  
Queen Angella took a step, completely into the circle. She gestured before her to Shadow Weaver's waist.  
"What is this for?" she asked, with gently suppressed playful intent.  
She let her hand close on the ribbon that looped over Shadow Weaver's waist and held it.   
She pulled her closer by that ribbon in her hand, not expecting Shadow Weaver to yield, she did not yield. Angella held onto the dress. Shadow Weaver wrapped her arms around herself, sideways looking away, then she stepped-leaned closer against the queen anyway.   
Not treatheringly, looking for shelter. 

Angella's hand slipped under the fabric of the ribbon, behind her, under a layer of cloth, onto her back. She was keeping her in both arms, hands resting on her lower back. 

Angella stood holding Shadow Weaver's silence to her. She looked down on Shadow Weaver's hair.  
"Have I scared you?" the queen whispered.   
Shadow Weaver laughed.  
"You could not possibly scare anyone." 

Shadow Weaver felt softer in her hands, rocked by the soft circular movements Angella made on her back.  
As Angella's hand caressed Shadow Weaver's back, she felt the wet ends of her hair tingle against her glove and felt it sink into it, as it must also seep through the fabric of Shadow Weaver's dress.   
"You need to dry your hair better." 

"Is this... what you need?" asked Angella, after a while.  
Shadow Weaver did not answer. She bowed her head down against Angella, to rest in the crane of her neck. This was as close to an answer as she could give.

Angella held her a moment longer.   
"You are too kind." Another woeful lack of sarcasm.  
Angella still holds her. 

Shadow Weaver felt her hair touching Angella's fingers, almost as if her hair were still powerfully alive. She waded through it, up, her hair, catching her fingers briefly in the snares of her tangles.  
Stroking Shadow Weaver's hair brought Angella's fingers up to her jawline and tenderly queen Angella had her look up at her.

Why hide such kisses behind a mask?  
Angella thought, her voice sounded unintentionally stern, even in her mind, she did not even try to voice it out loud.

Shadow Weaver bit her teeth together. She could not let herself feel fragile, grudging, amorous or ravenous anew. She had only finally calmed down, in her arms, her touch. 

"You should brush your hair." Angella smiled to her. "I should collect your things."  
Angella stepped back again, squeezed her waist.  
She took the washing bowl, carried it away. "You can tell me tomorrow if the dress meets your standards."  
The dress, the kiss, the proposition, the embrace.

\-----  
This is not yet the end of this scene. ;)


	43. Chapter 43

As Angella emptied the washing bowl back into the font, she had expected Shadow Weaver to retreat back into a heap of clothes. She turned,   
Shadow Weaver stood, already almost against the barrier. As if still waiting for a close inspection of her new dress to take place.   
Angella was not prepared to see her standing. The sorceress felt much more present this way than when she had been sitting on the floor.   
Angella walked the room. The sorceress remained close to border, ready. Was she daring her to demand her to take a twirl in the dress?   
Shadow Weaver tilted her head, in a 'Don't presume you can leave now.' manner.  
Angella walked back to her.

Try not to think on how her figure cuts to her waist, irresistably. 

"I never imagined you'd be" kiss "like this." Shadow Weaver sounded painfully honest.  
"Don't let it upset you."   
She watched Shadow Weaver take the brush from the floor. "I don't mean anything by it." It is just how I am, it is just being kind.

Angella gathered Shadow Weaver's things, towels, used dress, but then stayed to wait for the brush.  
She sat as before on a cushioned seat to watch the sky. Her thoughts dwelled on what she could not tell the woman in the circle.  
That she should not be ashamed about what she misses. She thought of what she would tell someone, who was not Shadow Weaver, with a similar complaint. She had no idea which someone she would even tell this to. Any someone, none.   
It was a conversation she only ever had with herself.  
She was a widow. She knew what is was like to miss intimacy. She knew what it was like to see the few comforts, lovers, she could take and then hadn't.   
She wondered about life in the Horde, about what Shadow Weaver could not outright tell her of her time there, in the same way she could not take her into confidence about her own isolated existence.  
And there was certainly a lack of touches during her days within that circle. Everyone needs hugs, Angella thought. Shadow Weaver was already here for a long time, and a long time yet. Angella had every understanding for her plight.

The sorceress was brushing her own hair, aggressively. She tried to have it quickly over with. She did not have the patience for this today. She was making the tangles worse.

She saw her own impatience reflected in Angella's eyes.  
Great, now her brushing problem was getting on the queen's nerves too.  
"The brush."  
"Already?"  
Angella nodded.   
"If we must." Shadow Weaver gave in with a sigh.   
Guessed she'd be sleeping in messed-up hair tonight. Not that she cared.  
She cared a lot. 

Angella stepped in front of her again.   
"Do you need help with that?"

Angella would be surprised if Shadow Weaver let her, after how Angella carried on about her hair that very morning.  
"Yes," said Shadow Weaver.

"Come sit by the side of the circle for me."  
Angella went to sit down behind her. Shadow Weaver passed her the brush, hand reaching to the outside of the barrier, behind her.   
Shadow Weaver sat quite rigid at first, to not have her back hit the barrier. So Angella leaned closer against her in the circle, removing that problem.

\------------------------------

(Broken) Shadow Weaver got a hug!   
Chapter 42, the Hug, the Meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything.

Angella, Queen of Thirst.  
Is there such a thing as Unresolved Thirst?

Is it time for a quote? -I have several in my writing folder for this story.- Let's have a quote:   
"And both of these things- female delight and female desire- are so often demonised."   
Pam(ela) Grossman   
-I can't properly provide you with a source for the quote because I found this on Tumblr and not in a book I was reading. -


	44. Chapter 44

The markings of the circle burned bright blue when queen Angella joined her.  
She began to brush the hair as she would any other's.  
The sorceress sat before her as if she was used to this.

The queen was careful....  
Queen Angella....  
Angella....  
Shadow Weaver took a deep breath, careful not to have it sound too much.  
... Angella took care not to hit the sides of her mask with the brush. If those teeth grazed the metal it would make a hateful scratching sound. 

The sorceress went on to ignore her, seemingly effortlessly.  
She kept her gaze directed steadily forward. She was good at not moving. As with Hordak, unwavering, hands clasped together, as her mind hummed with exhaustion.

Only when the queen put herself to ridding her hair of a particularly viscious snag, did Shadow Weaver hiss. Angella's fingers snatched at her hair, snatched at her heart.

Shadow Weaver was already displeased with her own impatience at dealing with her hair. She was not about to complain at Angella's kind-hearted attack.   
Too good to brush her own hair. To brush her own problems away. She should be busying herself with disentangling the heart Angella had snatched from her.   
Was she too good to have her hair brushed by a queen? 

Her eyes dwelled down to her hands in her own lap.   
Queen Angella brushed the hair thoroughly. She held her hair, tress by tress. Held the hair properly, not just by the fingertips. Not like it belonged to something scary. She spread the hair out on her palm as she worked. 

Shadow Weaver stared as her hair dropped in front of her. Even as she tried to keep her head from drooping down and her hair with it, this had happened. She was looking at her knees framed by some stray locks.

She had not done something like this with the lovers she had taken in the Horde.  
No, not at all like this. 

The sorceress tucked up her legs and held them.  
"How did you know me?" Shadow Weaver whispered, at long last.  
Angella did not cease her brushing.  
"We weren't acquainted." she answered, not remotely held up by the question, leaving the matter at that. 

\----  
This crumb brought to you by me and   
Blackmore's Night-Ghost of a Rose, helping out in the background.  
It is time to continue my (rather extensive now) playlist. Did I post this one already?


	45. Reflection

Angella must have discerned the scar tissue running in her hair by now, she said nothing of it. Shadow Weaver felt her touch on her skin. Those hands that did not linger. They rested faintly in the back of her neck.

"Look up," Angella requested kindly. "Thank you."  
Shadow Weaver slid her hands over her knees to calm herself.  
"I am leaving if I am making you feel ill at ease." Angella proclaimed.

Shadow Weaver spoke as as she had not heard her:  
"Thank you for not sending someone else."

The sorceress did not sound very proud now. She did not brag about her deeds anymore.  
Angella sensed they both did not want to discuss matters of the day. 

Angella's eyes did not want to let go of the sorceress.  
There was something spellbinding about speaking, not speaking, with her like this. She saw that Shadow Weaver was tired, like herself.

The queen would not have her touch linger as she stroked her hair and skin. When the gentle brushing was over, she would leave at once.

Until then, as long as she could she would look on the sorceress and all the while feel her own loneliness stare back at her.  
With her back at her.  
She did not need to see her face to sense her loneliness, her being was drenched by it. 

Angella knew a solitude that was painful, yet she had never seen it before. The figure before her to look on, she embodied her own sentiments.  
Why she wanted to behold her own secluded, ignored emotions reflected back at her, was beyond her.  
She was starved to see this echo of herself.

Shadow Weaver sat wavering in her arms.  
The shadow pressed a bit closer into her shoulder. Time passed in silence. 

\---  
crumb two  
typed up to Blackmore's Night-Shadow of the Moon

PS will be offline for a week. Further crumbs after that. :-)


	46. Chapter 46

Add to playlist: Solitude standing- Suzanne Vega  
303 kudos?! :O  
\-----

It was simple. She would not dispell this peace.  
There was no reason for the moment not to exist.  
So Shadow Weaver intentionally made it last. This was not out of fear of breaking the silence.  
She was usually accutely aware of how to better, or worsen, a situation and would languidly, self-indulgently lean into which option would benefit her most.  
Though, she had seen many a situation blow up in her face before she could say exactly what she needed to say to have her plans come to fruition.

She did not know, nor care, how to guide this moment. She did not want to consider her options.  
She knew her judgement was gone.  
It was dangerous not to care. She could not.  
She could not feel the danger at all.  
She would feel safe, even if she wasn't.  
Because of Angella.  
Who treated her now, so naturally, as she would any other.  
For being Angella.

She should have insisted someone else stay with her. Instead she had requested her especially. She would hate someone else to see and tend to her, someone who she could, healthily, avert herself from.  
She found she liked this peace. She liked not being scared. 

It felt as though Angella had already seen her. All of her, behind her clothes, behind the mask, knew her flayed, flawed skin, her mind, knew her to the very dregs of her soul.

The queen certainly had felt those. 

And yet the queen sat calmly with her.  
There was no harm.  
Shadow Weaver stroked down her legs. She focused on the cloth and on feeling the floor beneath her feet.

Angella's hand hovered over her shoulder, Shadow Weaver imagined drawing her in further.

If she should reach out, she would be rebuffed. The queen would merely swat her hand away and continue.  
Yet it felt like their peace could not be spoiled so easily.

Angella's hand reached for a lock of her hair, so near to touching. She took the lock from her shoulder. Shadow Weaver watched it get picked up and retracted from where it was trailing over her arm.  
Queen Angella must have postponed taking it, as to not to caress her skin by accident.  
If she would but smooth her hands over her shoulders. If she would but meet Shadow Weaver's approach with something other than refusal, let her take that hand, remove the brush,  
Shadow Weaver would be kissing her again, if not for the mask. 

Shadow Weaver tried not to think of this, she thought only of this.

She looked up, sideways. She caught Angella's gaze, held it.  
Shadow Weaver straightened her back, as if to prove something, but Angella already looked away.  
She was dedicated to her task.  
Shadow Weaver drifted quickly out of her dream, remembering herself, as much as she rather wouldn't. She forced her grating mind away from ruinous thoughts.

Angella saw her hand slide to her ankle, holding it through the fabric.  
"Don't hurt yourself." Angella spoke. 

The brush stopped its strokes. "I promised Adora we'd shelter you."  
Her voice was so close, right next to her face. "Micah would not want you to get hurt."  
Angella felt Shadow Weaver shirk away. She gave her the space to pull away entirely if she desired, she did not.  
"You are supposed to be safe here." Angella sighed. Shadow Weaver heard her take the hair from the brush and place it down.  
The queen continued. "We are trying to keep you alive and well. It would be helpful if you cooperated."

"I saved you." Shadow Weaver argumented. It was a serviceable excuse for her reckless actions. Her voice sounded close to a whisper again, but pressuring, even if that would not work on Angella. 

Angella did not answer. She did not agree. Her tense disapproval was abundantly clear.  
In Angella's eyes she was still in trouble. She had managed to get even deeper in trouble.  
Shadow Weaver did not want to get into the whole 'It was necessary.' conversation for Angella to counter her every quip with 'No, it wasn't.'  
That would get them nowhere. 

Staying this close to her was all that mattered.  
Shadow Weaver slumped against her.


	47. Chapter 47

Angella was unfazed.  
She curled her arms around the sorceress. 

The light pressure of her slender hands weighed heavily in Shadow Weaver's stomach.   
"Casta told you then?" Shadow Weaver's voice was low. She would not let her words choke.  
"Shadow Weaver?" asked Angella. The name was almost sweet to hear, as before, Shadow Weaver could never unhear the way she'd said her name. 

"It is okay," Angella said, as if she needed the comfort. "you are safe here."  
Shadow Weaver leaned into her more strongly. Dazed by the day.  
Using her to shield herself from the light no doubt.  
Angella could see no demons spilling from her. So she wasn't leaking darkness, she was only an enchantress-shaped heap, safe to hold.   
Shadow Weaver relaxed against her.   
They sat on the edge of the cirlce, the edge of functional hair-brushing, not the edge of anything else.

Angella dreamt away. Her hands on Shadow Weaver's dress. She thought on the instances when she was so lonely that any friend's touch would hurt, for years.  
She did not want that for someone, anyone, else. She hoped Shadow Weaver was not going through that.  
After weeks of isolation, she must. It could hardly be any different.   
She should have foreseen what effect isolation would have on her, the deprivement it would lead to.   
She could not feel bad for her,  
but she should have set up a plan.

"I understand."  
"I don't need you to." Shadow Weaver talked slowly, for once only due to her fatigue and not to imply the other person was dumb. 

There was a hint of flowers around Angella. Flowers she had once known the names of. Shadow Weaver wondered if she had visited the garden before coming here. The scent clung to her, must have attached itself to her wings as she soared through the air.   
A faint veil of flowers following her.   
What did Angella mask? Was there anything she masked? She did not seem the type to hide.   
Nor to share.  
Shadow Weaver was no longer cradling her legs.   
She watched the queen's arms, enclosed around her waist. The hands in her lap.   
Shadow Weaver locked her arms over Angella's.   
Angella's hand fell on her thigh, rested there, casually.   
"Leave it." Shadow Weaver grumbled.   
"You don't mind me much, do you." murmered Angella, less hesitantly than she felt.  
She sounded tired too.  
"I don't mind you at all."   
she answered as if they had had this conversation many times before and she was sick of it.  
She had tried to speak low and inconspiciously but Angella fell silent somehow. 

Angella 's arms gently tightened. She fit so nicely in her embrace. Taking her closer calmed her.  
She traced the back of Shadow Weaver's hand.

Shadow Weaver hoped she could not feel the scars beneath the thin fabric of her dress and through that of Angella's own prestine gloves.   
This was quickly becoming her second favourite dress. Which was unsettling, for it made the one she last had possessed her full, cherished powers in her least favourite.

Angella's hand brushed over the fabric, her ragged skin, and drew away.


	48. Braid

The queen gathered her hair, urging Shadow Weaver to sit back up. Angella pulled the hair back and commenced to braid it for the night.

"I owe Micah a lot."  
"Does this gratitude extend to me?" Angella softly chanced.  
"No."

Angella watched the strands of long hair flop down once she released them, not as earlier that day when they had slowly levitated under her touch. She wondered how to instigate that occurance. 

Angella artfully tugged her hair. Shadow Weaver let her continue. She was very aware of Angella's hands, again, in her hair. Her certainty of her presence restored.   
She was still talking to her, her voice like a caress. Some retake of what is 'just' and 'taking care of her'.  
Shadow Weaver stopped listening, she had not expected false sympathy from the queen and she did not want it.   
'Take care of someone', a terrible expression. It meant killing them, disposing of them by sending them to Beast Island, or torturing and, as Hordak expressed this, conditioning them. Those were the jobs that usually went to her and her darkness and sometimes, usually, she enjoyed them.   
"Hmm" Shadow Weaver interjected. She trusted her tone to carry her sarcasm.   
Her inner bitter remarks were what kept her awake.   
She put more weigh behind her leaning into the queen.

Her body grew heavier, heavy and warm.   
Angella heard her breathing change. It slowed, acquired a weighty sound.  
Angella's hands stilled over the braid.  
Shadow Weaver's head tipped down to her lap.   
The queen let her lay down, eased her there.  
Angella could not tell due to the mask whether she was asleep or only half-asleep. The mask made it appear like Shadow Weaver could just as well not be there. Just a body. Only a costume. A ghost. 

"Am I a good cushion?"  
"Don't take it pesonally..."  
"I am not." Angella said kindly. "I realise the floor is no real competition."

The queen was stroking her hair, her arm, her side.  
Shadow Weaver raised her hand, curled it beside her mask. She crawled more comfortably against her.  
"Don't take this the wrong way..." Her voice coated in sleep. Perhaps she herself had the impression she had spoken a full sentence, when she only managed a mangled start. 

Angella stupidly thought back on kissing her. 

Her head warm in her lap.   
Angella briefly ceased her light caressing, she thought something was about to go wrong when Shadow Weaver moved again, but she only shifted slightly to wrap her hand around her own ankle over the fabric instead. Had those scratches healed yet?  
Angella overlooked whatever was beneath her dress and mask.   
The queen caressed her until she was certain she slept deeply. 

As soon as Shadow Weaver was truly asleep Angella at once perceived herself as terribly removed from this person.   
The one who had kissed her.  
Afterall, this image was not the same as she had felt.   
The cold mask. The painfully straight lines in her garb. The harsh palette of reds and black. A terrifying character.

The braid miserably out of place on her.

Angella did not reach to caress her again.   
Eventually she took the cushion closer, pulled it to her side from nearby.   
She did not want the woman to feel her head fall brusquely to the floor when she left.  
She replaced her lap with the cushion, careful not to rouse her. She put everything away that still needed tidying and laid the blanket next to her, should the sorceress need it.

Angella considered drawing the curtains so Shadow Weaver could sleep better. She did care about her night rest.   
For safety, she could not bring herself to close them.  
She would not let herself slip up on her own rules, uncertain as she may be about their effectiveness. 

The moonlight will banish out the darkness. 

She imagined faint grey lines, in the air, on the floor, deepening, and rushing to the reposing sorceress to resurrect her more destructive powers.  
When Shadow Weaver stirred in her sleep no shadows shifted with her.   
Angella look at her for long enough to see... no shadows run to her from hidden spaces in the room since she had fallen asleep.  
She was her own vessel of contained darkness.

Angella stayed by the window a while and watched the Moons.   
It was night, unreal and quiet.  
The moons overlapped in the sky and at their feet, at the mercy of their rays, there was the dark moon curled up on her floor.  
If the files of Mystacor were correct, the same moons that cast their light on Shadow Weaver now were those who had seen fit to curse her with the terrors of their dark sides.  
Angela looked up into the lumnescent night. She attempted to descern some emotion from the moons, some token of good will or evil intent.   
These were the same moons which powered her moonstone, connected her to their powers. They had made her queen of light.   
They had destroyed her prisoner. 

Angella stole away in silence. She left the curtains open.  
She bid the guards goodnight.  
She burned the hair she had taken from the brush once she reached her own chambers.

\---

Let's leave our Lady of Daisies to rest. 

We made it to the end of the crumbs! 

It is a bit weird to type in the parts on isolation and touchstarvedness in these times. 

We can move on to the cookies :D and the mouth conversation, which I would have loved to have reached before the in-show face reveal occured, but ah well, as long as I get there it is fine. 

At last I got to the chapter where Shadow 'braidster' Weaver gets a braid!


	49. Chapter 49

Angella watched the small empty casket by her bedside. The slots within where her husband's earings were once kept.   
She sat in a worrying stance and could not break herself from its hold.  
She thought of the light in Micah's eyes whenever he looked at her.  
She thought of how she had rushed to press a quick kiss on his lips every time he made to leave a room.   
She only succeeded in saddening herself further. 

"How is demons-in-a-dress today?  
"I told you not to enter here unannounced."  
Castaspella leaned against the doorframe. Concerned.   
Great.  
"You are late for mandatory family time. The girls are in the kitchen. You'd better come before Glimmer decides to fetch you herself."  
Queen Angella would actually have preferred her daughter's sudden loud company crashing in.   
Casta continued:"I am knackered after what they put me through this morning. They had me take a parcour run. I pulled all my muscles."  
"The kitchen?" Angella asked. "Not the craftroom?"  
"No, change of plans, now they want to make cookies. Adora had first pick, training, Glimmer second, cookies."  
"And Bow?"  
He was calming influence on Glimmer, and on herself. Queen Angella could use his presence now. He often redirected Glimmer's instincs for mischief and destruction to creative craftroom projects which he himself was passionate about. He was so clever with fabrics and many other materials. Always helped out to design festive ornaments and he knew most there was to know about royal etiquette.  
"Not here." Angella sighed, not moving from her space on the edge of the bed. Casta waited a moment. "And Shadow Weaver?"  
"Very present.   
A dark thundercloud looming above our heads. She is thoroughly dismayed....grumpy."  
"Maybe that is the impression she wants us to have."  
"Then she is working hard on it. No, she is not particularly pleased with me."  
"She isn't? It could be worse. Personally, I was fearing that after yesterday she could be growning fond of you."  
"I am not that magical." Angella replied soberly. "I think I ...startled her more than anything and now she is acting out against me."  
"So she is no longer...." Castaspella twirled her hands. "...flirting?"  
Angella's lavendar gaze fell on her. "She was not flirting...maybe... I don't know. The point is, she always moves her hands. When she talks or not, it is her normal way of communicating. It is supposed to draw you in."  
"As a seduction she is trying to weave?"  
Angella thought of how calmly Shadow Weaver sat against her, how she had not reached out at all.

"There was something Adora did this morning, I was trying to tell her not to push herself to her limits too much and she wasn't listening to me, so I took her aside and she froze when I put a hand on her. She looked... not scared, she looked strong. She felt scared. I believe.... Shadow Weaver strengthens her manipulations with touches. I can see it in the way she hovers to the shield when she talks with you too. She is desperate to make a physical connection to influence you. She wants to mold people. Her entire stance shows that want."  
"Casta, we are not children. She won't win us over that way. She may draw them in with caring cheekcaresses. She may even fool herself into loving them, after a fashion." Angella sighed. She had lost her sentence. "She tries to have you step closer, by the way she speaks, or sits on the floor refusing to get up. Always there is this dramatic charm she summons, to lure, it comes with her craft of magic."  
"Angella, look at me, I am the head of Mystacor, I don't do that..."  
"I can't even count the times I handed her something and I could tell the care she would take to touch my skin if she could. It is like she makes time slow down when taking an object from my hands. She will always do this. It may not even be intentional. But she is safe. I believe she has given up, by now. She is in a shield that, you confirmed, will hold. While I do believe that part of her intrusive way of handling people is set in loneliness, I should not go and poke that particular snake."  
"But you will?"  
"I want to. She makes it very tempting, but I won't. That is not our problem to solve."   
Angella marched out of the room. 

"What happened this morning then?"  
"She gave me a skinfull."  
"About?"  
"Her cushion had left the circle. It must have fallen out, she must have shoved it out of her reach in her sleep or she did it on purpose. I felt her mood as soon as soon as I entered. She likes to impress people."  
"No kidding."  
"She stood in her circle looking at me like I was one of her students. She gave me a look that those must have often suffered. She went on to tell me in a demanding tone that I was to hand her cushion back to her. It was the towel-thing, the blanket-thing, all over again. She was smug about reclaiming something she had already been given. I was so very aware of the fact that if I took it back to her, granted her to retake it, I would be caving to a prisoner. She knew that."  
"What a brat. How can the Frightzone be so cruel and so petty?"  
Angella headed into the next hallway. She was regaining her ground and confidence.  
"I took the cushion away. I really don't want her to use such tricks on me. It is not good to either involved."  
"You are not giving her a cushion ever again?" CastaSpella questioned.   
"I'll give it back this evening. She sleeps in a tangle of limbs and red fabric. Her dress used to service as blanket and still services as nightshift. She needs a cushion, more than a cushion."  
"She needs a bed."  
"Delusions of power grow too quickly with this one. Everything she says is to get a rise out of you. Which works like a charm on you."   
"Hey!"  
"It is childish and best not to respond."  
"This cushion-business is a last attempt to be in control." Castaspella concluded, hoped.  
"Be that as it may... I am not looking forward to her inching her hand up mine every time I hand her something."  
Truth was, Angella already knew since last night what she was going to do about Shadow Weaver.

Adora, the soldier, blocked the queen's way to the kitchen.  
The queen let slip a faint smile, expectant.  
The girl cleared her throat. "Your majesty, I request to see the prisoner."  
"No, Adora, I can't allow that."  
Adora made herself broader, braver.  
"Your majesty, I promise a visit will in no way interfere with my prestations as She-ra, if that is your concern." She wore her serious face, painfully serious. Her words were well-rehearsed.   
Queen Angella would be respectful to the soldier. Although she would rather tap the girl's nose and be the caring mother she never had.  
"You can't promise that," Angella spoke slowly.   
"I..."  
"and even if you could, I can't let you near her." Angella took a deep breath, straightening her neck with swanlike grace. "It is not She-ra I am worried about. Though we need her desperately. There have been She-ra's before and there will be again. There is only one Adora.   
I don't want to lose you."  
"With all respect..."  
"I said no."   
Angella reached past her to open the door and let Adora enter the room before her, Casta followed in the queen's wing trail.  
"Can I at least know..."  
"Of course, she is quite well."  
"Thank you, you majesty." Adora bowed, a bit confused. The queen took her arm and led her to the kitchen table. "Perhaps, you can report to me what we will be doing here?"  
"Y...eesss, ma'm." Adora struggled. She rubbed the back of her neck.  
Out of her depth.  
There was a crash.  
Glimmer.  
A mess of ingredients suddenly on the table. Flour and chocolate pieces everywhere.  
"I see..." Angela spoke.  
"Mom, we are making cookies!" Glimmer beamed.


	50. cookies

I wrote this chapter, as most of this story, right after season 2. It is mainly part of my list of face options for Shadow Weaver. I hope it is still enjoyable after we got an actual face reveal in the final season.   
In other news, I finally watched all of She-ra!   
I was delighted to learn that Angella is not a good cook. Not that I expected her to be.  
Oh and I now know that magic in this story works a bit differently than in the show.  
I hope all of you dear readers are well.   
\---------

"Is it supposed to look like this?" Queen Angella asked.   
She looked calm as she prepared the dough. She wiped her hand on her cheek.   
Her daughter took a look at the lump of crumbling dry pale pastry before her.   
"You forgot to add the eggs." Glimmer passed them to her. "And then I get to mix!" Her eyes sparkled at the prospect.   
The princess turned back to Adora who had sorted all the tools before her on the flour-dusty table. The hero needed to have everything organised before she even considered starting throwing her ingredients together.

Not much later, Adora was poking soggy dough, disheartened. She moved to putting the cut-outs, in the shapes of stars and moons, in neat lines ranked on size. She ignored her dough until she noticed Glimmer's looked no better. "Do you really think she'll like this... smudge? This is nothing like the cookies we ate."  
"Adora," Glimmer laughed. "we will have to back them first, silly." she hesitated. "What does she like to eat? Apart from Princesses' guts?" Glimmer laughed, comically, exactly like a girl with a crush on her best friend.   
"I don't know...." Adora answered honestly. "I don't know if she eats."  
"Mum carries her food, we know that."  
"Yes, I am not sure she needs it."  
"How can you not...?"  
"I've never seen her eat."  
"Your own mother? And you've known her since, what, forever?"  
"I've seen her lift people in her darkness and drop them down again completely spent."  
Glimmer shrugged. That could be eating. She doubted draining people was very tasty.  
"She eats." Angella interjected, to end the discussion. "Now, you'd beter tell me the meaning of this afternoon activity."  
Glimmer turned to her mother with wide eyes. "You ...heard...?"  
"Yes, now tell me."  
Castaspella bit her lip as if she herself was in trouble and not her niece. Family moments were very important to her. She wanted them to go well.

"Now...you must not be angry with us, mother, please don't freak out" Glimmer whispered under her breath. "but we are sort of doing this for Adora. She wanted to have something to give to Shadow Weaver." Glimmer strained herself to a smile.  
"And you..." Angella said, already sounding like she would chide them. "said you'd help her."  
"Yeah, I mean, her first idea for a gift was a knife. She needed help."  
Angella's bored eyes slid to the warrior girl. She had expected her to try and aid the prisoner. Adora looked very ill at ease under the close eye the queen was keeping on her, even during 'free-time'. Queen Angella felt that if she did not handle this Adora-situation well, Casta might never leave.   
"I suppose so... I can't allow you to give her home-made cookies."   
"But..."  
"I am saying no, Glmmer."  
"But, mom...." Angella looked at her daughter. "Mom... but we wouldn't have to... You can carry it to her, from us!" She tried sounding happy again.  
Queen Angela sighed, her daughter groaned. 

"Adora, sweetheart," Queen Angella spoke. "I don't know how often to tell you this, but, my dear, I will tell you this innumerable times if it sets your mind at ease: your mother, Shadow Weaver, is fine. She gets enough food and desserts as it is."  
"You could...let Adora see her." Glimmer suggested sing-songery.  
"No."  
"Moooom." Glimmer slunked down.  
Adora smiled thinly at her friend. Glimmer gestured to her 'we were this close'.   
The queen still focused on Adora. "This moment should be a present for you, and not one in service to anyone else. This moment is to help you," She saw the girl suppress a dislike of that phrase. No, she did not look like she enjoyed being 'helped'. "to benefit you, not your...mother. These cookies are yours."  
Adora looked at the dough, still unconvinced of its authenticity as cookies.


End file.
